Captive
by Amatista
Summary: Not everyone belongs. Following the killings in Gatlin, one very unique child finds herself imprisoned by the followers of He Who Walks Behind the Rows. Not only is she an Unbeliever, but one who posesses a strange power......
1. Surprise

They were innocent.

They had no way of knowing what would happen that day.

As he drove, Mark Daniels spoke, but he knew that everything he said wasn't being heard. "You hearing me over there?"

"Always do," Erica stated quietly. Her attention was focused on anything but her older brother, and the tension between them was getting heavy.

"Then say something."

"I did."

"Knock it off! I'm serious." She closed her eyes, obviously hurt, and he sighed heavily. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I just don't want to think about it, so I wish you'd lay off already."

"You rely on Dad and me too much, and I just wish you would make some friends this time."

She looked at him with steady blue eyes. "So do I."

Mark instantly felt like an ass and dropped the subject, focusing on the road ahead of him. Erica turned back to the window once again, scanning the severely dried stalks of corn. Yellow, she thought, a vast sea waving in the gentle wind. This had been a terrible summer for the corn crop, thanks to a drought that had gripped Gatlin. She swallowed uneasily, unable to look away. She was transfixed, but why? Why should she care about what the corn looked like? Why did it all of a sudden make her heart drop?

Mark was talking again, but Erica interrupted. "You think Dad missed us?" It sounded a bit rushed.

Mark smiled. "Of course he did. We've been gone for a week, and the poor old guy's all alone. Why would you ask such a silly question?"

Because I think I scare him, she thought. Her voice grew soft. "I missed him so much."

"I know. We're almost home, though, and we have plenty of time to catch up. I bet Clayton and Sarah are going to wet their pants when they see you."

A smile finally crept upon her face. Clayton and Sarah Gilman were the twins she babysat, and her only friends. All three of them shared a deep connection that others couldn't understand. They knew her; she could trust them. Yes, she'd be happy to see her "secret children."

"I'll be glad to see them again," she said truthfully. "I have a lot of games of Monopoly to make up with them."

Mark chuckled. "You're all nuts, but I'm sure you know that."

They passed a road sign: GATLIN, 2 MILES.

Her hands were cold. She twisted her frigid fingers together, trying to shake the feeling off. No such luck.

Mark gave her a suspicious sideways glance and licked his dry lips. "You're too quiet." Simply stated, but dead serious.

Erica swallowed.

An uneasiness he couldn't shake began to take over. "You have a feeling, don't you?"

She tore her eyes from the dying corn. An ill sensation in the pit of her stomach had been growing, building on top of itself for hours; now it was almost at its peak. "Just…" How could she put this?

Mark was listening intently.

"Mark, something's wrong." She felt so stupid. Why couldn't she come up with a better adjective?

But he nodded his understanding. "How long has this lasted?"

GATLIN, 1 MILE.

Her throat was closing up, trying to prevent her voice from escaping. "I had a small twinge this morning, but I honestly thought it was the beginning of an upset stomach. But it's been getting worse all day, and I don't know why…. I just don't know…"

"Honey, relax, you're okay," he reached over and rubbed her back, soothing her gently. She took a deep breath, hoping she really was okay. "You're okay. Maybe we'll go to _Hansen's _later, get you a shake and talk about this. We've figured out your feelings before, right?" She was grateful to have such a supportive sibling, but deep down she knew he was as frightened as she was. They both knew perfectly well that no amount of milkshakes would solve this problem.

At first, they saw no one as they entered town. Then again, Gatlin was so small that there never was much activity until further on in. They passed a few farms, complete with quaint houses and barns, chickens, cattle, horses, and even more corn. Rows and rows of tall, suffering vegetation begging for relief. It reached out to Erica, reminding her of starving villagers yearning for food from their dictator. Wanting, needing…alive. It beckoned her, pleaded for her….and screamed inside her head.

_Sacrifice_…

She snapped her eyes shut, hoping it would pass before it drove her mad. I don't understand, she though, I don't understand. What does it mean?

Further and further they journeyed into the small town, and everything looked still and silent.

_Sacrifice_…

Erica felt cold; something was very, _very_ wrong.

"Mark."

"We're almost home."

"I think I'm going to be sick."

"You're okay," he squeezed her hand, "trust me. If there really is anything to worry about, then we'll take care of--" As they crested a small hill, Mark slammed the brakes and they came to a screeching halt. Both were frozen in shock as they stared ahead. A body lay in the street, face down, drowning in a pool of dark blood. He had a large, ghastly wound in his backside, as if he had been ripped open. Buried in the wound was a sickle, and the sickle was in the hands of a boy. A thin child with short brown hair, and Erica thought he couldn't have been more than fifteen years old. Mark's face visibly drained of all color. If she could have moved, Erica would have screamed, or thrown up, or cried. She did nothing but stare. The boy stood slowly and was looking directly at them, his face a mask of surprise at the sight of the car and its occupants. Erica recognized him: Ben Meyers. He worked in the hardware store. The feeling inside of her was no longer warning her; it was shrieking _"get the hell out of here!"_

Ben tore the sickle out of the man's back with a sickening _squish_ and pointed it toward them. "Outlanders!" He yelled.

"DriveMarkdrive!!" Erica shouted in one word. Mark needed no further prompting and hit the gas pedal. Ben was running after them, his reddened weapon waving madly, but was soon left far behind them.

"Holy shit! That was Ben! He killed Mr. O'Hara! Was that what you were feeling today?"

"I don't know," she sank down in her seat. She thought by now the feeling would have at least subsided a bit, but it still grew stronger. "Jesus, we have to get out of here. Now."

"Are you sure?"

She shot him an exasperated look.

"Of course you are. Alright, we'll get to the police as soon as we get into town. They'll take care of this…"

She shook her head. "No."

His grip on the steering wheel tightened, his knuckles going white. "No?"

"We have to go. Don't ask why, we just have to. Please trust me on this!" Tears blinded her and fell in hot lines down her cheeks.

Mark's lower lip quivered. "I always trust you."

"Dad!" Erica gasped suddenly.

"We're going to get him first; then we'll go far away from here, okay? We'll make it out of here."

Within a minute, they were in the center of town, and couldn't believe the sight in front of them. This time, Erica released a strangled cry. There were butchered bodies everywhere, all fatally wounded with knives, axes, screwdrivers, meat hooks…all bleeding in doorways of shops, on the sidewalk, in the road…_all adults_. But the rest of the town appeared deserted, as if the murderer had done his business and left. Could Ben have possibly done all this?

"_What the fuck is going on here_?" Mark meant to scream in rage, but Erica detected a hint of hysteria.

"Mark…" Erica broke down in sobs and turned away from the massacre.

He roughly wiped tears out of his own eyes and continued driving, swerving to avoid running over any bodies. They said nothing for a short time, for they were both worried about their father. They had to get to him first. _Hansen's Café_ was near the corner of the street, and to her dismay, Erica saw more dead through the shop windows. She worried about her father, about Clayton, about Sarah. Oh God, please don't let them be dead!! Out of the corner of her eye, she saw movement. Mark hit the brakes again, flinging Erica forward. There was a group of children on the sidewalk, and Erica nearly screamed in slight relief….until she realized that the children all held bloody weapons. She saw Laura Perkins, Danny Kubrenaw, and others she didn't recognize. They smiled, laughed, and looked as sweet as children could be. The victims are all adults, she thought. She still stared, disbelieving. But at the same time, she knew it was true: the _children _had killed them all! Now they all pointed at their Pontiac, shouting "Outlanders!" or "Unbelievers!" to one another. What did it mean?? So young…they were all so young…She felt extremely dizzy and began to slide down in her seat. She caught a glimpse of a young boy just outside _Hansen's_, and felt the blood in her veins freeze. All she had seen was a small figure dressed in black—and from a distance, she could tell he was smiling, pleased—before Mark sped off once more.

"The kids! The kids did all this? Where in God's name is Officer Hodgekiss?? How did he let all this shit happen? What the fuck is wrong with all these kids??" His voice sounded so far away to her. She was falling slowly into a strange, frightening abyss, and there seemed to be no end to it. She broke out in a cold, cold sweat and shivered. "Erica? You listen to me: we're going to get Dad and get far away from here," he repeated his earlier words, but so much fear was etched into them. "You hear me? Answer me, damn it!"

"Yes," she whispered.

They pulled into the driveway of their house and, after a sudden rush of adrenaline, immediately jumped out of the car. Erica would not let her brother leave her sight. To Mark's relief, the front door was still locked, and he dug out his keys.

"Dad!" He bellowed upon entering. "Dad! We have to go! Dad!" He went to the kitchen. "Erica says we need to get out of here. Dad?"

Erica sprinted up the stairs; he could have been taking a nap. After heaving a few breaths, she managed to call, "Dad?" Her heart pounded so fiercely that she needed to catch her breath. Leaning against the wall, she tried to steady her breathing. It wasn't working. _Sacrifice, sacrifice, sacrifice_…It was like a horrible incantation tattooed in her mind_. Sacrificesacrificesacrificesacrifice_. His bedroom door was open, and she couldn't scream because of something like heart failure. On the floor lay the body of her father, mutilated and bleeding, a hatchet sunk deep into his skull. His skin had turned a pale blue, his gray eyes clouded over. Inside his mouth was a wad of cornsilk. His body had been covered with fresh corn leaves, which gave off a sweet odor amidst the scene of murder. Erica backed up against a wall and slid to the floor. On the opposite wall, a message had been scrawled in her father's blood: NO ROOM FOR THE DEFILER OF THE CORN. The words rang eerily in her ears, and she wept with what energy she had left.

The next thing she knew, Mark had wrapped his arms around her. He had discovered their father, and was crying with Erica. He said something to calm her (without success) and left the room to find a phone. After a further moment of hesitation, Erica took the opportunity to crawl to her father's corpse and pull off his wedding ring. She gazed at the bloody circlet in her palm, wondering why this had happened to him. I could have warned him, she thought woefully. He would have been miles from here if I'd called this morning and told him something was wrong! Dad, I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry…

"Phones are dead," Mark had returned, looking as if he would be sick at any given moment. "Leaving now." He was too horrified to form complete sentences.

Erica was numb everywhere and felt only hot tears in her eyes as she ran with her brother. There was an automatic instinct that was forcing her to move on, to escape. When they reached the front door, they froze. Someone stood in the archway to the living room, and Erica nearly blacked out from fear. The boy was tall, red-haired, and had a very unpleasant face; his looks only complemented the large hunting knife that was unsheathed….and covered in what Erica wished was cherry syrup.

"You," Mark sneered.

The boy only smiled. Quite a hideous smile, too.

"Erica," Mark shoved his keys in her hand, "go." The words didn't register completely…or maybe she just couldn't do it. "I made a promise long ago to always protect you, so you had better listen. Now go! Run, God damn it! Run!"

With a final shove, she bolted out the door and jumped into the driver's seat of the car. She couldn't do this! She didn't know how to drive! But none of it mattered; she had to escape, unless she wanted to end up bathed in her own blood. She didn't even try backing out and drove over the front lawn. She grunted as she plopped onto the road and sped off, her shoulders heaving as she breathed. The emotions were piling up, like mercury rising in a thermometer. She had just left her brother behind! What was wrong with her?? She hit the brakes as hard as she could, but to her horror, she did not stop. She tried over and over again, and car still flew down the street.

"_Oh my God!"_

She swerved on the road uncontrollably and panicked. Mark, Dad, Mr. O'Hara, Clayton, Sarah…The image of blood entered her head one more time, and she screamed as she crashed into a tree.


	2. And a Child Shall Lead Them

Sinners. They were everywhere, polluting the earth with their unholy poison. Only a selected few were given the strength to rise above it all, to rid the world of sin, to set order and guide others to righteous paths.  
  
Gatlin. A town that was in desperate need of salvation. The corn had suffered far too long, and the adults had to pay. They had to pay for their sins and their sacrilege. Children were born innocent, and it had to remain that way. Age only brought corruption, greed, hate, war, evil...it had to be stopped. They had to be sacrificed for their wrong-doings. It was what He wanted, and Isaac Chroner obeyed His will.  
  
This was already his paradise. Isaac walked down the street, gingerly stepping over the occasional corpse. He was pleased with the progress of his followers and knew this was only the beginning.  
  
Some of the older children stood by, surveying their work. "Is He pleased, Isaac?" One timidly asked. Though he was younger than most of the children, Isaac possessed an aura that made him intimidating. His appearance even stated superiority: his spotless black outfit complimented his black hair and dark eyes.  
  
Isaac offered them a smile. "The Lord is well pleased this day. Your triumphs bring Him much joy." They smiled, bowed, and carried on.  
  
I am the giver of His word, he thought. He continued on his present course towards the car crash and the small crowd that had gathered there. He had seen the Outlanders in town, and had heard the crash only minutes later. The wicked shall be punished, he thought, and He Who Walks Behind the Rows shall strike down the Unbelievers. For He is the true Lord, the one and only God.  
  
He is here.  
  
I will obey Him.  
  
******  
  
Stepping onto the Daniels' front porch, Malachi Boardman sighed with satisfaction. In his hand was a long hunting knife, stained with fresh blood. Mark had been a fool to challenge him: Malachi hunted in groups, a trick he had learned from his family long ago. His accomplices had jumped Mark from behind, and within a matter of minutes, it was over. He had to admit, though, that Mark did put up a good fight...until Malachi slit his throat. All his victims had their throats slit, even Mr. Daniels.  
  
The world has no place for Unbelievers, he thought. They must all be cast out.  
  
Behind him, Caleb and Moses were giving the house a final inspection. Several feet from the house, Malachi saw where Erica had crashed, and smiled. He had sent Jacob to cut the brake line on the car in case anyone tried to escape. He had done well.  
  
"You were as stupid as your brother," he muttered to himself. From town, he saw a small black figure approaching the crash. He sheathed his knife and headed toward the small crowd that had gathered there.  
  
******  
  
They had difficulty pulling her from the mangled car, and knew she must have had a broken leg. After laying her body on the street, a small boy immediately covered her. His breath was heaving, as he had run from the police station in town to the crash site. Other children stood around, watching curiously, while breaths and sobs rocked the boy's body. Some stared with fascination at the Outlander, but soon made a pathway as Isaac approached. His eyes were cast in shadows from the wide-brimmed hat crowning his head. He scanned over the girl's immobile body, but focused on the weeping boy and narrowed eyes. "Iniquitous be cut down, so saith the Lord God of hosts." The boy buried his face further into her shirt, his fists clinging tightly to the fabric. A flicker of disapproval sparked within Isaac. "Clayton Gilman! Remove thyself at once!"  
  
"No."  
  
There was a murmur of surprise among the children at Clayton's defiance. Most of them didn't have the courage to speak against Isaac.  
  
He folded his arms in front of him. "Do you know this girl?" For a moment, he received no answer. "Clayton Gilman, I demand an answer. Do you know her?"  
  
"Yes," he choked out.  
  
Isaac blinked. "What is it about this Outlander that touches you so?"  
  
He rubbed more tears on her shirt, and her blood began staining his hands. "She's not an Outlander; she's my friend."  
  
Isaac expected to hear murmurs of disbelief, to confirm that Clayton's words were a lie, but he heard nothing. "Her name?"  
  
"Erica Daniels."  
  
Isaac scanned the faces of the young crowd. "Who else knows her?" For a moment there was silence, but then two girls stepped forward. "Does young Job speak the truth?" They nodded so subtly, as if the action would cause great pain to their necks. "Come forward, Rachel, and tell me about this girl."  
  
A girl with dark hair stepped closer, and she had cruel black eyes on a sweet face. Rachel Stigman. "She moved here early this summer, right after school got out. I've seen her around town once in a while, but that's it. She kept to herself a lot, and we all thought she was strange. The only people she was ever with were her father, brother, and the Gilmans. She was an Unbeliever, Isaac," her eyes grew colder.  
  
Rachel's explanation seemed to satisfy Isaac, who finally waved her away. He studied Erica curiously, the spider webs of blood covering her forehead, the deep cuts on her arms, her slashed jeans, and Job still shielding her with his body. Someday, she would have been beautiful, but she died as a very pretty child. He felt no remorse, especially for an Unbeliever.  
  
And yet...he had a strange feeling about her. It was as if this girl had some sort of aura, and he couldn't help but think something would happen...but what could happen with a dead girl?  
  
"Her father was a violator of the Lord's corn!" A voice suddenly shouted, and all attention snapped towards it. The children stepped aside as Malachi approached, watching him with a mix of terror and awe. "She was no different from her family; she was as unholy as her father and her brother. Her blood had to be spilled!" Several of the older children praised his words.  
  
Clayton finally looked up with angry eyes. "Her dad was a farmer! She had nothing to do with that, so leave her alone!" More tears overflowed his eyes. A collection of gasps was heard all around; the others were sure Clayton would be punished for his sharp tongue.  
  
Malachi scowled, disgusted with his display of emotion. "Pathetic," he whispered.  
  
"Silence, all of you," Isaac commanded. "An innocent has died today, but her suffering is finished. Clayton, be happy that she has gone to a better place." Clayton remained where he was. "Let this not dampen your spirits. The Lord blesses you with His joy and asks you to continue His work. He has forgiven her for being an Unbeliever, for she was not present when He made Himself known. We shall forgive her for being misled--"  
  
"She must not be forgiven!" Malachi bellowed. All eyes were now on him. "She does not accept the Lord and to forgive her would be insulting to Him."  
  
Isaac turned slowly. "The Lord commands it. She will be forgiven, and you will obey the Lord." Malachi glared down at the younger boy; Isaac stared back just as defiantly. The atmosphere was so tense that the children were afraid to breathe. Isaac's composure never faltered. "Question me not, Malachi. I am the giver of His word."  
  
It was a phrase Malachi would grow to hate.  
  
"There is still much work to be done," Isaac addressed the others. "He warned that more Outlanders are to come. We must be prepared--"  
  
"Look!" A startled voice shouted.  
  
Isaac whirled around to see several fingers pointing at Erica. At first, he was confused because he saw nothing. "What does thou see?"  
  
Clayton cradled her head in his lap, his face calm and not surprised. The children came closer, and then there was a collective intake of air.  
  
"She heals," another voice spoke.  
  
Sure enough, the wounds on her forehead slowly faded, as if the blood had been an illusion. All that was left was flawless skin. Several children cried in surprise when her leg snapped back into place with a disgusting "pop". Isaac, who was stiff with shock, managed to drop to his knees and pulled back her sleeve: the deep cuts began to vanish before his eyes. Soon, she had stopped bleeding altogether. As he looked around, Clayton saw that not one jaw was closed. When he saw Erica's chest steadily rising and falling, he released a breath of relief and whispered, "She lives." 


	3. Initiation

The _Grace Baptist Church_ was no more. The letters had been pulled off, the building painted white, the grass freshly cut, and flowers planted around it. Now it was the nameless temple to worship He Who Walks Behind the Rows. 

  
The Lord's plans had quickly gone into effect: Unbelievers continued to invade Gatlin, returning home to a deserted, silent Nebraska town; they were easily taken care of. Malachi had disposed of the false minister and the Blue Man, the only ones who dared to challenge the Lord. Rachel had enforced order amongst the younger ones with strict rules and a harsh tongue. Soon, Isaac would perform the naming ceremony for many of the children. And as for others, they began planting new corn throughout the town. In time, it would be their perfect world.

  
The door to the church opened, and Isaac squinted in the sudden dimness as he stepped in. Removing his hat, he walked towards the pulpit, where Erica's still unconscious body lay on the floor. Rebekah and Mary had been watching over her, cleaning the dirt and dry blood from her face and hands. In the first pew sat Clayton, making sure no harm came to his friend. Isaac waved the girls away, who left without complaint. He eyed Clayton cautiously as he hovered over Erica. Clayton never wavered under his gaze. 

  
"Don't you dare hurt her," he hissed. 

  
Isaac raised his dark eyebrows. "Fear not, my child, for I have no such intentions," his voice was quiet, yet firm. 

  
He looked at Erica for the longest time. Her breathing was calm, her pretty face expressionless. He had spent the previous day trying to understand the purpose of the self-healer, lost deep in prayers, seeking answers to questions on all their minds. What was this strange gift she had? She had died in that accident...hadn't she? Was it possible that she could avoid death? Had she always been this way? Were there more like her? 

  
The Lord had whispered the answers to Isaac. 

  
He glanced again at Clayton, who had refused to answer any questions regarding Erica. How much did the boy know? 

  
"She has been brought to us for a reason, Clayton," Isaac stated. 

  
Clayton didn't answer. 

  
"God has led her to us," he continued, "for He has blessed her with the gift of Healing. Therefore, she is a gift to all of us, and will be of great use in the years to come." He ran a hand lightly across her cheek, causing Clayton to tense visibly. Isaac stood and bowed his head, offering her to the Lord's power and grace. He smiled after receiving an answer. 

  
It is your will, Lord. 

  
Stepping to the side, Isaac retrieved a small bowl filled with water. His lips moved silently in prayer, while Clayton looked on, thoroughly confused.

  
"Come close, child. Cradle her head," Isaac instructed, knowing the boy would object to his touching her. 

  
Clayton slowly came forward, his eyes never leaving Isaac. He knelt by Erica, placing her head in his lap and cradling it protectively. He watched as Isaac dipped his fingers into the water and sprinkled it over her forehead. 

  
"I bind you to He Who Walks Behind the Rows, that you may serve Him, be further blessed by Him, and live in His kingdom eternally." He continued to sprinkle water over her arms, hands, and chest. "Come to Him, follow Him, surrender to Him, use your gifts for Him." 

  
Clayton swallowed nervously. He didn't like this. The words filled him with a deep chill, and he suddenly felt frozen with fear as comprehension sunk in. 

  
"Live and be properous, so saith the Lord God. Praise God, praise the Lord." 

  
After a moment of silence, he stepped over until he loomed above Clayton's head. He performed the same ritual, sprinkling cool water on his forehead and repeating his previous words. Clayton simply sat there, stunned, scared, Erica's head still resting in his lap. He felt as if something had just swallowed him whole, but he couldn't describe what that something was. All he knew was that it was very bad. Very evil. What will happen to us now? He thought. Erica, I wish you would wake up... 

  
Once Isaac finished the baptisms, he smiled with satisfaction, gazing at the children on the floor. "Welcome," he said softly.   
  
  



	4. Awakenings

With the concussion she had sustained, Erica should have been unconscious for the next few weeks. But two days later, she awoke as if from a deep sleep. The only discomfort she felt was a dull throb at the base of her skull. Her eyes opened, and at first her surroundings confused her: a bedroom, not hers. Not her quilt, not her pillow, not her not her window on the far wall…not her home. She turned over slowly, her heartbeat accelerating. 

  
"Mark…?" Her throat felt as dry as a desert. 

Had she dreamed it all? Had it been a wild figment of her imagination? Gradually, her mind began to piece things together…children…shattered glass…darkness…and she sat up with a start. The feeling was still with her, warning her, frightening her. No, there had been no horrid nightmare. Real.   
All real. She should be dead. Her heart leapt to her throat, and she tried hard to swallow it down. "Oh God," she whispered as her head began to spin. "God…" Rolling out of bed, she sprawled on the floor, staring up at the ceiling and breathing hard. Mark was dead; there was no doubt in her mind about that. Dad was dead. Everyone in Gatlin was dead. 

  
Everyone except the children. 

  
But why? What had possessed them to commit such heinous acts? 

  
She felt the tears sting her eyes, and thought she would throw up. Get out, she thought, and somehow managed to push herself up, tripping on her long skirt…her skirt?? She gasped as she looked down. She had been dressed in a very plain, very odd gray dress. It was snug and the sleeves were too short, but it still covered up most of her body. "Huh?" What in God's name was going on? Why was she dressed like this? Her shoes were gone; in their place was a pair of old black boots. 

  
This…is…fucking…creepy. 

  
What happened next was enough to make her jump out of her skin. As if an invisible hand guided her face, she looked above the doorway. Mounted on the wall was a large, hideous crucifix, fashioned out of dried corncobs and leaves. It looked so primitive and abstract, and she felt herself shrinking as she stared. She was transfixed, terrified. It was looking down on her, watching her intently, drawing her to it… 

  
_Sacrifice… _

  
"No!" As she stood, the dizziness worsened. Trying to balance herself, she stumbled from the room, through hallways, and out the front door. She tripped over the boots, fell to the lawn and vomited. The bile burned up her throat, and tears of pain blinded her. Her shoulders heaved as she breathed. How long had she been out? Where in the world was she? Behind her, the small gray house stood quietly, the paint peeling everywhere. She squinted, trying to clear her mind. I know this place: the Wells' house. She'd known that they had daughter named Roberta. Did her parents suffer the same fate as all the other adults? 

  
She knew the answer was yes. 

  
Across the street, she saw the sea of corn waving lazily to her. For some reason, it still triggered a sensation of intense fear deep inside her soul. Her heart hammered in her chest, blood pounding hot in her ears. Something strange was roaring within her head, filling her until she thought she'd explode. 

  
_Spill the blood... _

  
She clapped her hands over her ears. 

  
_Come to Me... _

  
Stop it! Stop it! Leave me alone! 

  
She nearly had a heart attack when a hand softly touched her shoulder. Releasing a wild cry, she jumped to her feet, poised to defend herself. A tall girl, probably around eighteen, looked rather surprised at Erica's sudden outburst. 

  
"You're awake," she calmly stated, offering a hand. "You ran out of the house before I could say anything--" 

  
"Stay away from me!" 

  
"I won't hurt you, I swear." 

  
"Bullshit." 

  
"Please! I swear." 

  
Erica had a hard time gaining control of her breathing. "Roberta," she finally sputtered out. 

  
The girl looked at her strangely. "My name is Mary Wells." 

  
Stunned, Erica shook her head. "Your name is Roberta Wells! I know your name is Roberta! Why are you lying to me?" 

  
"My name is Mary," she repeated firmly. "It is a name worthy of Him." 

  
"Him? Who the hell is 'Him'?" 

  
"He Who Walks Behind the Rows. He is the Lord, and we must all obey Him." 

  
Erica gaped at her. "What the fuck are you talking about?" But then she decided she didn't want to know. "You killed your parents." 

  
Mary's brown eyes became marbles of ice. "They were Unbelievers." It was all she said. 

  
Still gaping, Erica felt herself walking backwards, and Mary followed. 

  
"Stop." 

  
"No." 

  
"Isaac will want to see you at once. You must come with me." 

  
"No!" She ran along the road, wishing only to be far away from Gatlin. Why did she change her name to Mary? What happened to Roberta? Who was Isaac? Who was the deity she spoke of, and why did the name send a cold knife of pain through her heart? She ran as fast as she could, her legs feeling heavier with every step. She knew the road stretched all the way through town and beyond; she could go to Hemmingford, which was nineteen miles away. Yes, there she would be safe... 

  
Dead ahead, several children stood in the street. Her feet rooted to the spot and she choked on a scream. They were armed with the same weapons that had killed their parents. A wild urge to scream "What have you done with Clayton and Sarah Gilman?" was suppressed. Wait, was that the red-haired boy from her house? 

  
"Malachi, she's awake!" One child observed. 

  
"Seize her!" 

  
The group charged. Snapping out of her terrified trance, Erica made a hasty decision and dove into the cornfield. Almost immediately, she was consumed by an overwhelming sense of fear and froze. 

  
_SACRIFICE! _

  
She was on the verge of hyperventilating. 

  
_COME TO ME! _

  
The feeling, the intense, suffocating feeling. Something was here. This was not a good idea. "God help me, please," she sobbed. 

  
"Do not let her escape!" 

  
"After her! Go!" 

  
"Get her you guys. Go on, get her!" 

  
Not wanting to imagine her blood staining those knives or sickles, she forced the feeling aside and pushed herself forward. 

  
"Go that way, Benjamin. I've got this row." 

  
Got to get out, got to move...Further and further she plunged into the vast rows of corn, dodging into other rows, leading the children on wild chase. Dry leaves slapped her face. She didn't care. 

  
"Search everywhere! She won't get far." 

  
The maze of cornstalks seemed to never end. She felt like she had run forever, stopping every so often to steady her heart beat. At times, she thought it would burst within her chest. 

  
"You cannot run forever, Unbeliever!" 

  
When their voices approached, she would take off again, weaving in and out of rows, ducking to remain hidden. Got to get out, got to get out... 

  
After an eternity of running, the voices faded, all looking in the wrong places. For a moment, Erica was thankful, and continued to sprint down one row. Up ahead, it looked like the field would finally end, and she dashed towards it. But with a start, she realized that the corn was leading her somewhere. She stopped and scanned her surroundings carefully; she listened, heard nothing. There were no insects in this field! How was that possible? Normally, the cornfields were loaded with buzzing flies, gnats, and ants every year. Where were they now? 

  
Where was she? How deep had she journeyed? How had she known which directions to take? 

  
The corn had been leading her the entire time. 

  
_It wanted me to come here. _

  
She was suddenly hit by fierce dizziness, and she brought her hands to her head. Extreme nausea overtook her senses and she moaned loudly. "Oh, God." Stumbling forward, she finally tripped and fell to the dry earth. She had made it to the end of the field. Breathe, breathe, relax...you made it, she thought, letting her head rest on the ground. But something wasn't right. The earth wasn't dry here: it was dark, felt rather rich. Impossible! The drought had ruined the soil for the summer, right? Her eyes rested on a strange root next to her head. She studied it, noticing how it had sunk into the ground a bit, and how it was attached to a large plant. Then she released a blood-curdling scream. It was not a root; it was a hand. The skin had turned a sickly pale shade, the veins blue and very prominent, the smell of decaying flesh too much. The plant it was attached to was an arm, an entire body...a man laying face down in the dirt, clearly dead. To her horror, there was another body in front of him...and behind...all laying neatly in the same fashion. There was an entire field of corpses lined up head to foot. Lined up like rows of corn. The ground was sucking nutrients from the bodies of the adults. 

  
_SPILL THE BLOOD! _

  
She scooted away, got up to run again. She was gradually losing all feeling in her limbs, tears blinding her eyes. 

  
_COME TO ME! _

  
She was running, but she thought she was falling. In the back of her mind, a distant whisper calmly asked questions. Why has this happened? Why did they do this? Why don't they feel regret? Are they going to kill me too? 

  
She suddenly spilled into a tiny clearing, and screamed again, louder. The sight before her caused her to fall on her rear. A body was hanging on an enormous cross made of cornstalks, his ankles and wrists bound with barbed wire. He had several wounds in his chest, old blood staining his black uniform. The children had crucified the minister of the _Grace Baptist Church_. 

  
Jesus Christ. Literally. 

  
She fell over, shaking, numb, unable to take anymore. 

  
Voices were still echoing painfully in her mind. 

  
_SPILL THE BLOOD!_

  
"God no..." 

  
_Sacrifice. _

  
No more. No more. 

  
She broke down and cried, not hearing the yells that gradually came closer. She didn't see the children come into view, cheering in triumph. Nor did she feel herself being turned over, or the large hunting knife that was pressed to her throat. She didn't care anymore. 

  
The arms of an older boy scooped her up, carrying her further on through the cornfield. The others followed quietly, pleased with the outcome of their pursuit. All Erica thought about were the ones that had mattered to her. 

  
Mark, Dad, Clayton, Sarah. 

  
I'm sorry.   
  
  



	5. Bittersweet Reunion

They brought her before Isaac. She was laid on the ground, but she didn't move. Still in a state of shock, Erica was trapped in a strange, gray haze deep within the confines of her mind. Here, nothing would harm her, and nothing would frighten her anymore. Her eyes would not see; her body would not feel. But despite her current condition, her sense of hearing was still intact. 

"You have brought the Healer back to His graces," a new, odd voice announced. The sound of the voice sent a finger of ice running up her spine. "You have fulfilled His command, and He smiles upon you all." 

She suddenly became aware of her breathing, which was labored, and the feel of the hard ground beneath her back. Gradually, she was being pulled from the trance she was in, and she scrambled desperately to remain there. The beating of her heart...and that awful feeling... 

"Erica Daniels. We are pleased to have you alive and well." 

No. Her mind slowly began to clear, the world coming into focus once more. Erica wasn't sure where they had brought her, but she knew she didn't want to be here. Several children stood around the area, and in front of her stood a pair of black legs. 

"Show me her face." 

Hands grabbed her arms, pulling her to her knees. As her vision improved, she scanned the area slowly. It looked to be another clearing in the cornfield, this one much larger than...She shuddered visibly. Shaking her head, she tried to twist away. Someone grabbed her hair and yanked her head back. Her eyes snapped shut, and through the stinging pain, she grew dimly aware of the cool blade pressed to her exposed throat. 

I'm in Hell, she thought. 

"It was not wise to try escaping, child. The Lord has wanted you to come here for quite some time, and He would have been most displeased if you had been killed." 

She released a bitter laugh. "Fuck you." 

The hand in her hair tightened, and she winced. "Shut your mouth!" Someone hissed into her ear.

"Pollute not thy tongue with words of filth, Erica," Isaac replied coldly. She opened her eyes, meeting the pale face of a black-clad boy. His entire appearance reminded her of a Quaker preacher. Was this the same Isaac that Mary has spoken of? Just looking at him gave her the heebie-jeebies. His eyes were solid black, as if they were all pupils, and seemed soulless. 

"Release her." 

All hands suddenly let go, and she remained on her knees. Isaac languidly walked around her, studying her carefully. She dug her fingers into the soil as he watched her, feeling the richness of it. She had a feeling this place was one of great importance, and that scared her. What was it about this spot in the middle of the cornfield? When he no longer blocked her view, she received her answer. Screaming, she scooted backwards as the feeling flooded her heart. As if seeing the minister wasn't bad enough...A second large, cornstalk cross had been put here, this time bearing the bloody, very dead body of Officer Hodgekiss. The uniform of his authority and importance mocked him in death. His mouth was wrenched open in a silent scream that would go unheard forever. She couldn't stop staring at it! She was thankful when tears once again blurred her vision. She covered her face, anything to escape that sight. 

"And those who are not worthy of Him shall be cut down and offered up to Him," Isaac acted as if he were quoting something. 

Their fearless leader. "You killed my family," she said behind her hands. He arched an eyebrow, but said nothing. Heaving a few breaths, she finally pushed herself to her feet, and faced Isaac with angry, tear-filled eyes. He was actually an inch or so shorter than her, but his composure made him seem much taller. She asked the one question that had plagued her mind for three long days. "Why?" 

He crossed his arms. "Dost thou question the Lord's will in vain? Dost thou not see with eyes of truth and flesh? Look around you, my child," his arms indicated the corn, which was still and silent all around. "Sin and corruption has caused this devastation. The corn has been a sacred part of this land, and flourished as none had ever seen before. God blessed this land and made it plentiful for his own children. But adults, with their blind faith and evil thoughts, let the corn suffer and weaken." It was as if he were giving a sermon, and the other children hung on every word he said. "He Who Walks Behind the Rows has shown me the error of their ways, has shown all of us the path we must follow. He demanded the sacrifice of tainted blood, to take back what had been stolen from Him. In return, He asks the children to pursue righteous lives, and to act according to His will." 

__

Sacrifice... 

Erica shook the thought from her mind. 

He took a few steps towards her. "Children are not to blame; how can they know evil? They do not. They fear evil, do all in their power to avoid being caught in its merciless grasp. But they can learn evil. In time, they become the faceless souls who have lost the faith, indulge in the forbidden desires, forgetting that the world is a gift from God. We must never forget to serve our Lord." 

She didn't blink, only stared at him with eyes as wide as plates. "You're sick," it was a choked whisper. 

He smiled sinisterly. "No. I am the voice. I am the giver of His word." 

The older children had gathered behind him, an army capable of overpowering her at any time. Her eyes met a face she immediately hated. Her blue eyes radiated intense heat as she looked at him. As if he could read her thoughts, he smiled grotesquely. That red-haired boy...the one that killed Mark. It didn't shock her that he was one of Isaac's morbid minions. Her eyes narrowed as she swore silent vengeance on him. 

She swallowed, feeling as if the tall stalks were watching her, hearing her. Something was definitely awake in those fields, awake and hungry. She thought she could hear it whispering, taunting her with frightening quietness. 

As Isaac had spoken, children emerged from the cornfield, and soon the entire clearing was filled with them. It was as if they arrived for some sort of planned meeting. She looked at all of them nervously, recognizing some: Danny, Rick, "Mary" Wells, Jordan, Laura, Steve, and so many she didn't know. The girls in plain, modest dresses, the boys in overalls and shirts, looking like Amish farmers...she felt like she had been thrown into a nineteenth century time warp. So many children…For a while, they all stood there staring at her, as if she were a display in a museum. Something behind a glass barrier that they weren't allowed to touch. 

Her head was spinning. She found her voice again, pleading pathetically. "Help me." 

They looked at her strangely. "You have already been saved," Laura Perkins said quietly. 

They closed in on her, making her feel like a caged animal. Erica released a long, sobbing moan, not wanting to be anywhere near Gatlin, Nebraska. Just kill me, she thought, defeated. Just end it all. Anything was better than being here. 

But then... 

"Erica!" 

She froze. That sweet, piercing call made her heart swell with worry, joy, and relief all at once. She spun around as Clayton and Sarah Gilman appeared from the rows of corn. Oh my God! They pushed past others blocking their way. Hardly daring to believe, she dropped to her knees as they ran into her arms with gentle thuds. The weight in her arms told her this was not an illusion. It was real! They were alive! Her eyes wide with disbelief, she wrapped her arms around them in protective hugs. "Sarah! Clayton! Thank God you're alright!" She pulled back to look at them, to memorize their faces all over again. They were physical opposites of each other: Clayton's smart brown eyes filled with fatigue, and short brown hair adorning his head. Sarah's long blonde hair was tangled from lack of brushing, accenting a pair of innocent blue eyes. How beautiful they both were! Her hands caressed their cheeks, stroked their soft hair. Nothing compared to the euphoria she felt in that single, precious moment. Her twins, her friends. Rainbow rivers of tears spilled down her cheeks as she planted tiny kisses all over their faces. "I thought I'd lost you," she whispered. 

"Never," Clayton said, clinging to her tightly. 

She hugged Sarah close, who only trembled in her arms. She never was a very talkative child, but Erica's had always accepted that. She was so young; it wasn't fair to have her go through this ordeal. "You're okay, you're okay," she repeated to her, soothing her as a parent would. "I know you're afraid, Sarah, but I'm here now. I won't ever let anything happen to you," she promised them both, glaring at the faces of the others. 

There were murmurs all around them, but none of them mattered to Erica. She looked at the crowd with a new sense of protectiveness, radiating like heat from her aura and touching everything in sight. But she soon became aware of the bowed heads all around and she listened closely to the murmurs. They sounded like...prayers? As if they were thankful for some sort of miracle. 

Then Isaac interrupted the silence. "Job and Sarah have eagerly awaited your awakening." 

Job? She looked up at Isaac, confused. Now why did that all of a sudden make her uneasy? "Who's Job?" 

Clayton sniffed. He looked at her with shame in his eyes. "I am." 

Stunned, Erica stared at him, but thought about what he had said. Her face was clearly angry when she looked at Isaac again. "You changed his name to Job?" 

"It was the Lord's request to give him a name of honor. So he was given one." 

How dare he! Clayton's name made him the person he was, and Isaac had robbed him of that. She couldn't hold it in any longer. "Are you out of your fucking mind? What kind of religious carnival are you trying to run here? I don't know what you've been smoking, but you better come out of your trippy trance right now, God damn it!" 

There was a collective gasp as she took the Lord's name in vain. That earned her a hard slap from the red-haired boy. That hurt; the force of the blow sent her falling to the ground. 

"Your lack of respect will see you burning in the flames of Hell, Unbeliever!" 

"Stop it!" Clayton finally yelled out, preparing to strike his small fist at Malachi. 

Malachi effortlessly caught his hand. "Don't even try it, insubordinate little fool!" He roughly pushed the boy to the ground. 

"Malachi, enough," Isaac said. 

Clutching her cheek, she curled into a tight ball. Sarah gripped her arm, and Clayton crawled beside them, their faces worried. She looked at them reassuringly. "I'm okay." Her cheek still stinging, she looked around again. The others were too afraid and too helpless to stand up to Malachi, or any of the older children. They would never speak out in their defense, or lift a finger to help. They had been manipulated into submission. 

"The Lord triumphs again," Isaac suddenly announced, "for the Healer has been returned to us unharmed. A gift from God is the most precious in life. We must be grateful, for this is proof of how pleased He is with our progress." 

Her stomach dropped as he said this. The car crash, she thought. They knew. Oh shit, they knew she could heal. Well obviously, if you were mangled in that wreck, they must have seen you heal. Shit! What plans did they have in store for her now? Her arms tightened around the twins. 

Isaac motioned to a girl, who held several green corn leaves in her hand. For the first time, Erica noticed the corn surrounding this clearing was green, an intense contrast to the yellow around them. Her stomach churned violently, and then she felt part of her go numb again. The girl came close, running a careful hand through Erica's blonde hair. It took a moment for her to realize she was braiding the leaves into her hair. When she finished, she joined the crowd again. Erica raised a trembling hand to touch the tight braid. The leaves were smooth and cool within the silkiness of her hair. 

"The time has come for all of us to accept her, as the Lord has accepted her." He came close, placing his fingertips on her head. "We welcome the one who has received a blessing from God, the one with the power of Healing. She is one of us; an eternal daughter to God." All the children went to their knees, bowing their heads in silent prayer. The feeling was intense and hot deep within her stomach. Whatever he muttered, she didn't listen. She couldn't listen. Her ears struggled to block out everything, and she looked at Clayton and Sarah still huddled in her arms. They were her children now. As long as she was here, she would never allow any harm to come to them. She would do all in her heart and soul to ensure their safety. Looking at the sky, the late afternoon sun began a quiet decent to the horizon. I promise I will take care of them, she thought. My promise to God. 

But her heart was jolted with cold fear as she wondered...was it God listening? Or something else?


	6. The Gift

Isaac stared out the church window, patiently waiting. Outside, some of the younger children climbed trees, chased one another, and laughed gaily in the afternoon sun. He smiled. Something would happen, and he would see everything. 

Malachi pushed the doors open and marched in, giving him a strange salute with his knife. His face was as red as his hair, and he babbled on about his displeasure with the Daniels girl. Isaac listened, but didn't look at his disciple. Malachi hated the Healer ever since her arrival two months ago. He believed her to be unworthy of the Lord's graces, but Malachi was a fool to harbor such thoughts. God had a plan for her, and things were about to unfold. 

"There is absolutely no reason to keep her among us," Malachi raged on. "She should have been taken long ago, and I'm ready to fulfill that task!" 

He held up a hand to silence him. "Speak not blasphemous words, Malachi." He turned cold black eyes to him. "You know not of His plans, for He speaks them only to me." 

Malachi's fists clenched tightly, his teeth grinding together. 

"Calm yourself. All your questions shall be answered, for the Lord will show us the purpose of the Healer." 

He crossed his arms over his chest, glowering skeptically. "And when will that be?" 

Isaac turned back to the window, seeing one of the young boys hanging from a high tree branch. He grinned to himself. "Soon. Very soon." 

****** 

The Gilman's house now had three occupants. 

Erica gasped as she cut her finger with the knife. But instead of giving herself first aid, she continued as if nothing had happened; thus had been the way all her life. When she looked again, the wound had healed completely. Shaking her head, she continued to prepare lunch, an eternal sadness shimmering deep within her eyes. 

Behind her, Sarah sat on the floor drawing pictures. They were told it was forbidden, but Erica chose to ignore that rule. Sarah loved to draw, and Erica would be damned if she deprived her of that. She was well aware of the gift Sarah possessed, and part of her nervously awaited to see her latest picture. 

"How's it coming, Sarah?" 

"Fine," she answered happily. 

Erica smiled. "Good. What'd you draw?" 

"Micah." 

"You did, huh?" She wiped her hands on the front of her dress. "May I see?" 

Sarah nodded eagerly and handed her the picture, smiling with pride. Her eyes scanned the childish figures and trees, an innocent concoction from a young girl's imagination. But then she settled on one prominent figure, one who was lying down in a twisted heap. Clearly a boy, his clothes were dark, his hair was black, a frown marking his mouth. 

Something began uncomfortably scratching at her heart, a sense of dizziness invading her head. Despite this, Erica smiled at her again, retrieving the plate of fruit she prepared for her. "What happened to Micah in this picture?" 

She shrugged as she took a bite of apple. "He fell." 

As she said that, her words hit her stomach like heavy stones in water. It had only been two small words, but they exclaimed numerous meanings and possibilities. And then there was a knock at the front door, causing her to jump with a restrained cry. Sarah looked at her, frightened. A moment of silent communication passed between them. Erica nodded to her, and she automatically gathered all her artistic tools in her arms. 

"I'll let you know when it's safe to come out again." 

Sarah gave her a wobbly smile, then kissed her cheek and ran upstairs. 

Erica heaved a sigh of relief when she heard the bedroom door shut and lock. She would try her hardest to keep Sarah's secret just that: a secret. The knocking returned, and Erica finally went to unlock the door. Noah burst in. Erica yelped in surprise. His face was white. "Noah? What--?" 

"Help us, Leah!" 

She cringed. They changed her name to Leah. Isaac told her that in the Old Testament, she was a wife of Jacob, and that it was a name of great virtue. Erica hated it. "I'm not Leah," she whispered. "Calm down, calm down. Tell me what happened." 

He still spoke frantically. "Micah fell out of the tree and he's hurt really badly and his arm looks all funny and he won't wake up and we don't know what to do and please come and help him...!" 

****** 

Micah wasn't moving. He lay sprawled upon the grass, his pale face even whiter than usual. His lips were the lightest shade of blue. Holding his wrist, Erica was relieved when she still felt a steady pulse. But his arm was twisted at an impossible angle, and her thoughts were confirmed when she touched his shoulder. 

"No, don't touch it!" Jedediah, one of his friends, snapped. "You'll make it worse." 

"Hush," she commanded. She continued to trail her fingertips over the twelve-year-old's cool form, the bones of his broken arm stretching underneath the skin. She studied his frozen face; only an internal injury to the head would explain his unconsciousness. Clayton was standing among the small group of boys, worry crossing his entire face. 

She looked into his brown eyes. "He's hurt really bad." 

His stomach dropped when he understood the unspoken message conveyed in her eyes. "I know." 

It was then that she realized that beyond these trees was another cornfield. No longer were the fields a sick, dying shade of yellow, but a vibrant green, which made it seem more alive than ever. What shocked her most was how rapidly it had occurred: in a simple matter of weeks. A shiver of dread ran through her. Her feelings had not improved since that first day...and going anywhere near the corn always made it worse. It watched her intently, knowing she could feel its presence enter her mind. Around her, a few boys cried, some looked on with confusion. When would Micah wake up? Was he hurt? Was he taking a really long nap? How come he hadn't moved? When she looked at the troubled faces, she realized they weren't expecting some sort of miracle; they were simply too young to know what to do. This type of injury was beyond the skill of young kids. They needed the wisdom and guidance of someone older. 

Like an adult. 

But I'm not an adult. She sighed and closed her eyes, quietly debating with herself. Give me strength for what I am about to do. 

"Stand back." she quietly said, running her fingers through Micah's jet-black hair. "Whatever happens, don't help me." Placing her hands on his arm and forehead, she breathed as evenly as her heart would allow. He never flinched, and she concentrated on the feel of his skin beneath her fingers. I won't let you be in pain, she thought. Most kids break their arms at some point, but I understand how much it can hurt. I know that sounds lame, but it's true. There was gentle warmth growing beneath her palms. You know, you have friends that are worried about you. They want you to wake up, smile and play again. What do you think will happen if everyone thinks you're hurt? You wouldn't want them to be scared, would you? No, of course not. You'd rather run around and-- 

An excruciating pain suddenly exploded inside her arm, as if several flaming knives had been shoved in there all at once. "Oh, shit!" She hissed, biting back a scream, but never let go of his arm. The pain was familiar, but it still took her breath away and left her struggling for air. Her eyes snapped shut, but tears crept from the corners anyway. It hurt so badly! Her body began convulsing. 

The boys watched, terrified, not understanding what was happening to her. All except Clayton. He stood by, only hoping for the pain to be brief. There was a sickening "crunch" as Erica's arm broke and she screamed, but still she held on. Then there was a hammering sensation pounding at her brain; so it had been a small concussion that knocked him out. She had to banish all his pain. She had to take it from him... 

A memory crossed her mind, when she and her family first moved to Gatlin. She was babysitting Clayton and Sarah one afternoon, and they were climbing trees in the backyard. Clayton had fallen, breaking his ankle. Erica was sure their parents would never trust her again, and she never wanted to be separated from her friends. But seeing Clayton in pain and Sarah's tears was too much. She had to do something, and came to a reluctant decision. She swore the twins to secrecy. Having absolute trust in their friend, they agreed, and Erica touched his ankle. Soon she began writhing in agony, screaming that she wanted to cut off her foot, making the twins gasp in fear. Her ankle bent the same way Clayton's had, the tears pouring down her face in hot rivers. He looked at his own leg, amazed that it looked normal again; she had healed it. She had laid her hands on him, and absorbed the damage into her own body. Then her abilities took over and mended her broken bones. He and Sarah came close and gripped her hands, somehow knowing that she needed comfort... 

She finally let go, falling onto her side, breathing hard as the bones in her throbbing arm began re-knitting. 

Dead silence settled upon the area, aside from Erica's moans and cries of anguish. No one moved, no one spoke. But Clayton knelt by Erica's side, cradling her head in his lap and stroking her now sweaty brow. She lay there shaking, flinching at the "snap" of her mending bones. Oh, how it burned! Tormented tears flooded over her cheeks as she breathed, her teeth clenching tightly. 

"You're okay," Clayton whispered. Such comfort in his simple statement. Even as he said them the pain was slowly beginning to ebb away. Her breathing began to improve, and finally the burning in her arm had faded to a dull ache. The throbbing in her head was taking more time to heal, but even that was not as severe. Every time her heart beat, she saw red, and then it faded to black again. She was an exhausted pile of limbs in the lap of a small boy. 

There was a collective gasp of surprise and elation from the other boys. 

"Oh my gosh!" 

"He's awake! He's moving!" 

"Micah, are you okay?" Jedadiah asked. 

"I'm fine, why?" 

Erica forced her eyes open to see Micah sitting up, looking at everyone with confusion. "What are you staring at?" He demanded. 

They ignored the question. "Your arm. How does it feel?" 

"What are you talking about? It's fine, see?" He waved his arm around, as if nothing had ever happened to it. 

But he noticed that most of their attentions were focused behind him. His dark brown eyes followed their gazes and saw Clayton and Erica, and he gasped at her trembling form. She was someone that most of the children, including him, looked up to. Her tears baffled him. "Job, what happened to Leah? Is she hurt or something?" 

He closed his eyes. "You broke your arm; she healed you." 

Dumbfounded, he shook his head. Then he remembered what had happened ten minutes earlier. He clutched at his arm in the same manner she did, but did not feel pain. He stared at her, his handsome face completely stunned. "Leah...?" 

Her eyes squeezed shut. I'm not Leah! Her mind shrieked, but she was too weak to voice her protests. The boys began to come close, their faces amazed and in awe. She shrank back from them warily, watching their every move. Clayton sensed her tenseness, his body bending over her protectively. But they seemed genuinely fascinated, and she was puzzled. 

"Praise God, praise the Lord," someone muttered. The others unanimously agreed, coming close to touch her skin in hopes of being blessed, spouting words of praise, rushing off to tell the others of the miracle they witnessed...Erica just wanted to be left alone. She nuzzled further against Clayton's lap, wanting so badly to disappear. How odd that once, her healing abilities had made her an outcast; the reason why others avoided her; a factor that caused her family to move around the country so much; the cause for Mark's extreme protectiveness of her. Now it was not the same; now it was a power respected and admired by a murderous cult of children. Something seemed very wrong about that. 

Her ears perked up when the corn sighed with satisfaction, and the wind carried its whispers all across the silent town of Gatlin. At last, she had been exposed. At last, her purpose here had been cemented. 


	7. Ally

Diehl grabbed his throbbing leg and stumbled to the ground. His fingers came away covered in blood and he whimpered helplessly. Behind a closed door, Sarge barked madly, sensing the danger his master was in. The hunting knife gleamed with his fresh blood, and Malachi showed no remorse in his eyes. 

"No! Stay 'way from me, all a' you. Please!" 

"Shut that retched animal up, would you?" 

"No! Sarge ain't done nothin' t'you. Please, he listens t'me, and he won' be no trouble t'any a' you." 

Closer he came. "Let this be a reminder that your stubbornness will not be tolerated, old man. You will follow orders without question or hesitation." His eyes narrowed. "We could kill you easily right now; don't pretend you're not aware of that." A few other boys stood in the doorway of the garage, holding their weapons within his eyesight, verifying Malachi's threat. 

Diehl's filthy face went deathly pale. "Why kill me? What I done t'you?" 

Malachi raised his knife. 

"No! Don' kill me! I'll do as y'said, I'll tell 'em where to go an' won' say nothin' else. I swear it!" 

"You'd better," he sheathed the blade. "They will arrive shortly. Make sure they end up in Gatlin." 

"I'll do anythin' you ask. Jus' please, let me alone..." 

****** 

The boys gradually filed out of the gas station. From a distance, Erica remained undetected behind a small shed; she had followed them from town and ended up here, waiting for the right moment. She ducked out of sight when Malachi came into view, her stomach dropping at the thought of being seen. Unwillingly, her eyes drifted to the corn, which had turned pale yellow and brittle in the late autumn season. The stalks rustled louder than ever as breezes swept through, reminding Erica that it was always there, always whispering secretly. She stared at it for a long time, wondering if the corn would tell Malachi she was there... 

But she let out a sigh of relief as they left, and focused again on the gas station. Of all blessed events that could ever happen here... 

Diehl limped out, and Erica covered her mouth at the sight of his bleeding leg. He had poorly bandaged it with a bandana; he needed a doctor, or else that limp would be permanent. She wanted to cry out to him, to make her presence known, but she decided against it. He'd probably have a heart attack if she called out to him. And then how the hell would she get out of there? He disappeared around the far wall of the station, and soon she heard the excited barks of a dog. 

She waited. Silence was broken only by the rustling cornstalks, which grew fainter in her ears. When she was sure no one was in sight, she ran to the gas station, her heart beating wildly. He'll have a working car, she thought. And if not, well, he's an attendant; he can fix one up. He can get Sarah, Clayton and me out of here...maybe even by tonight. We'll be in Hemmingford in no-

An arm grabbed her around the waist, and before she had a chance to scream, a hand clapped over her mouth. She froze. From the feel of the body against her back, she knew it was a boy. Malachi?? If she tried to break free, he'd slit her throat. Defeated and fearful, she let herself be dragged back towards the shed, where she more than likely would be punished for spying. But as they reached the shed, a thought struck her: these arms were smaller than Malachi's, and certainly lacked his strength. Not Malachi, her mind whispered. Struggling, she managed to get a few muffled grunts passed the hand, but his grip tightened. Now she was pissed. After some clever maneuvering, she sank her teeth into the meat of his hand, causing him to cry out, his grip faltering. She elbowed her attacker in the stomach, and was briefly released. From her boot, she pulled a small knife. Rounding on him, she shoved her arms into his chest with surprising strength, causing him to fly back against the shed. The knife was at his throat, right above a major artery. He stopped moving. The boy was someone she didn't know, with curly black hair and large brown eyes. His skin had gone stark white as the blade pressed close to his skin. He might have been a year or so older, but was reduced to fear at her hands. 

"Please, don't hurt me..." 

"Shut up." 

"...please, no..." 

"You're not a very good listener." 

"...I didn't mean to frighten you. I...I can explain, please!" 

Her blue eyes narrowed dangerously. "Who the fuck are you?" 

His Adam's apple quivered against the knife, and he wheezed out, "J-Joseph! They call me Joseph." 

Her expression never wavered. "And who were you before your parents died?" 

He was shaking uncontrollably. "J-J-Jason." 

Erica blinked. Normally, when she asked others their real names, they would refuse to say. They claimed it was sacrilegious to show disrespect to their "chosen" names, and would remain defiantly silent. But this boy was the only exception. She pulled the knife back, still holding it in a threatening manner. "Hands behind your head." He obeyed. "Why are you following me?" 

Jason swallowed thickly. "Because I saw you following Malachi and the others, and I wanted to make sure you weren't caught." 

She grabbed his shirt collar and the knife was back at his throat. Slowly, a heated sensation began to ease through her veins, like a rush of...power. She suddenly felt stronger than she ever remembered. It would be so easy, she thought. All it would take is one quick swipe across his neck, and he wouldn't be able to stop the bleeding. No witnesses. Then he'd never bother me ever again. Her voice became a soft growl. "Why should I believe you? Why do you give a damn about what happens to me? No one else around here does, so how are you any different? Isaac would give you one word, and you'd do all you could to please him." 

"No," he said firmly. The determination in his voice surprised her. He was staring at her hard, despite the fact that he the knife could easily sever his windpipe. "I'm not like them, I swear." 

"How do I know this isn't a set-up? How do I know your buddies aren't waiting in the corn right now, ready to ambush me?" 

"If that were the case, you'd already be on the ground." 

She studied him for a moment, paying attention to the fact that his eyes never left hers. Still, she had to say, "Give me one good reason not to kill you right now." 

He answered calmly. "If you do, you'll be no better than the rest of them." 

The words hit her like a fierce blow to the chest. 

"Erica." 

Her eyes closed, horrifying shame filling her like a growing fire. Now it was she who could not stop trembling. Hot tears blurred her vision, and blood was rushing to her face as a different emotion overtook her senses. He was right, he was right...She suddenly screamed, all the pent up rage escaping in one long howl, and flung the knife away. How could she let herself do that? How could she allow it? It wasn't me at all and I know it! In the back of her mind, the faintest of laughs echoed gently, and her anger grew. She had been controlled by Him, that god who rested beneath the corn, waiting for blood. She would _not_ be His pawn. 

__

Mine. 

Get...out...of...my...head.

Gripping her skull, she sank to her knees and sobbed hard. Dumbfounded, Jason came close to the weeping girl, unsure of what comfort he could offer. "Erica." 

She cried harder. 

He timidly placed a hand on her shaking shoulder, but she shook it off. "The old man wouldn't have helped you. Malachi gave him orders to send more adults here to be sacrificed. He's too scared to betray him, just like everyone else here," he added bitterly. 

Erica listened but remained quiet, releasing only a few gasping sobs. No! That man is my only chance! He wouldn't turn me over to Malachi or the others. Would he? He has to help me, he just has to! But Jason's words were not all that outrageous. She had seen the blood on the old man's leg, the desperate look on his face. He'd do anything to save his own skin; he'd probably snitch on her without a second thought. And then this boy...this complete stranger had probably saved her from making a huge mistake. Why? Why risk his neck for hers? 

She looked at the boy again, not caring how red her damp cheeks had become, and, despite her stricken face, he saw the gratitude that lay deep within her eyes. 

****** 

"...ever since he came here. I always thought it was a bad idea for kids to be preachers, but Isaac is the freakiest person I've ever known." Jason chatted on as they walked along a road, revealing his thoughts about Isaac and his bizarre beliefs. From what Jason said, he had a great dislike for the boy preacher, and Erica took a small amount of comfort in that. He shivered as the icy wind blew; he had not worn a jacket. "Man, the stuff that comes out of his mouth...it's like...it's like he's not even human!" 

"He killed our parents. How can he be?" 

He bit his lip. "I was never involved. Not with the killings, their ceremonies, or anything they did." He paused. "I miss my parents a lot." 

"You and me both." 

"You know, I saw your family when you first moved here. I know you had a dad and brother, but I never saw your mom. Where is she? Do you think she'll come looking for you soon?" His face was eager, hopeful. "When she finds out what happened here, she can take us away. She'll bring the police with her, and things will get back-" 

"She died while she was having me," her voice was hollow. 

"Oh...I'm sorry." 

She never even glanced in his direction. As he continued to sputter apologies, she stopped and stood before the cornfield. It stared back at her silently. Though the vegetation was obviously dead for the season, she couldn't help but still feel nervous. What do you want from me? She thought. What do you want from all of us? The corn didn't answer, and she was relieved. Then the breeze picked up again, causing goosebumps to cover her skin as she hugged herself. 

"Erica?" 

She started, surprised by the closeness of his voice, but quickly regained composure. 

"What do you want, Erica?" 

"That's simple: to fly far away from here." 

"Then let's get out of here, you and me, right now!" 

How wonderful a suggestion, his words sweeter than the most beautiful music...but at the same time, she felt her heart breaking. Jason's smile faded as she visibly withdrew. 

"What is it?" 

She shook her head, her voice reduced to a choked whisper. "I can't." 

Shocked, Jason's eyes flashed with confusion and anger. "What do you mean??" 

Erica never looked away from the corn, reluctant to tell him anything. "It's complicated." 

His face began turning red. "I don't get you. You're the only one here capable of rational thought, but now you're running scared too? Isaac and Malachi have gotten to you too, huh? I don't believe that for a second! Ever since the adults were killed, you've been defiant, and I will not believe that you've joined forces with them! You're so set on getting out of here, so why don't you just go??" 

She finally turned to stare at him. The question pissed her off; at the same time, she wanted to smack him, and she wanted to cry. Without a word, she grabbed his arm and pulled him into the corn. You won't scare me forever, she thought, I've had enough since day one. Several leaves quaked as she brushed past, but that was all. No voices, no whispers. Nothing. They weren't as frightening as they had once been. She wished she understood why that was so unsettling. 

After several minutes, the field ended and they were in the Gilman's backyard, where Clayton and Sarah were playing. A calming sensation passed over Erica as the twins rushed over to embrace her. Jason watched, touched by their display of affection. It made him realize how much he really missed his own parents. They stared at him momentarily, their faces uncertain. But Erica spoke softly, and the twins nodded and resumed their game of tag. Jason approached slowly, coming beside Erica again. 

"See those two there?" Erica asked, and Jason nodded. "I stay because of them. I stay because they need someone to protect them, and I will die before I allow anything to happen to either one of them." She brushed an angry tear from her eye. "I stay because that bastard, Malachi, has vowed to kill them both if I try to run away." 

Jason's eyes went wide. "You're joking." 

She only looked at him, the pain of a thousand heartaches shimmering deep inside her soul. 

His face paled. "He really threatened to kill them?" 

"Yes," was all she said. 

"Jesus." 

"He doesn't exist to them." 

She went to sit on the porch. Jason followed, as if he was connected to her like a strange shadow. He didn't want to leave her side. 

"You don't belong here," he said. 

"Neither do you." 

He took a deep breath, released it. "Erica? I...I want to stay here, with you, Job, and Sarah." 

"His name is Clayton," she hissed through gritted teeth. 

"Sorry, Clayton. Clayton." 

She pursed her lips as she thought in silence, a battle of thoughts causing an ache in her mind. 

"Uh...so? What do you think? Can I stay with you guys? I really think it would be best if we stuck together. Please, don't make me go back to them," he said meekly. 

"You don't like being called Joseph, do you?"

"No."

Erica looked up, letting another breeze tickle her face. "Answer me this, Jason. Are you a friend to me? Do you swear your allegiance and promise to always be there when I need you? Do you swear you will never betray me? Because if you do, then you also betray Clayton and Sarah, and I will not stand for it. Ever. If you hurt them in any way, I will hunt you down and kill you, in life or death. Do I make myself clear? 

He swallowed nervously. "Crystal." 

After a moment, she continued. "If you promise me that, then I must ask you one more thing." 

"Anything. Name it." 

Her eyes shimmered sadly, and she pointed towards the twins. "You will protect these two. You will love them as much as I do, and you won't let anything happen to them, especially when I'm not keeping an eye on them. Swear on your parents' graves that you can do this." 

He nodded slowly, taking the promise deep into the recesses of his soul. "I promise you; you can trust me, Erica Daniels." 

She gave a short nod, and that was all. For the first time, she had a friend within the confines of the prison of Gatlin. Perhaps she would survive with her sanity after all. Fatigue began to overtake her senses, as she had gone through many emotions in a matter of hours. "It's getting cold. Take them inside." 

Jason called the twins and escorted them into the house. Before retiring for the night, Erica gazed at the sun lingering above the corn-laden horizon. It was watching her; whenever the stalks broke, she knew it was trying to frighten her. You cannot win, she thought. You have seen for Yourself that You do not have control over everybody. 

As she turned to go into the house, the wind picked up, and the rustling stalks challenged her. 


	8. Hate

****

AN: Thank you to my faithful readers. You are the reason I keep the story going.

Zepeniah Kirk (George) __

Moses Richardson (Henry) 

Daniel Kubrenaw (Daniel) __

Yemen Hollis (Edward) 

Mary Wells (Roberta) 

The book had gone on like this for several pages, and Erica felt the blood in her veins go cold. 

__

Amos Deigan (Richard) 

Malachi Boardman (Craig) 

Rachel Stigman (Donna) 

It wasn't until now that she realized how many children were living in Gatlin. The names completely covered at least four of the large pages. Chosen names followed by birth names. 

__

Jacob Tobin (Steven) 

Esther Crew (Carrie) 

Micah Altons (Ryan) 

Noah Madderax (Travis) 

Job Gilman (Clayton) 

Sarah Gilman (Sarah) 

Sarah was lucky; hers was already a name of virtue. 

__

Jedediah Parker (Jordan) 

Naomi Parker (Taren) 

Leah Daniels (Erica) 

She slammed the book shut, the sound ricocheting off the empty church walls. The last thing she needed to see was a confirmation on her loss of identity. Isaac, she thought. The walls bore pictures of familiar religious figures: the Virgin Mary, the Nativity, Jesus Christ, The Last Supper. But all the portraits had been crudely disfigured. Christ's eyes had been widened, His flowing hair green as corn leaves, His mouth grinning...He was grinning like a madman. Disgusting. Who the hell would want that watching over their shoulder? It made the atmosphere much more sinister, but she also caught herself thinking: could this possibly be the face of the demented corn spirit? 

Next to her was a scroll of dry parchment, which she carefully unrolled on the pulpit. The dread in her stomach grew as she scanned it: 

__

Aaron Smith (Thomas), b. Jul. 31, 1962 Jul. 31, 1981 

Zepeniah Kirk (George), b. Aug. 4, 1962 Aug. 4, 1981 

Daniel Kubrenaw (Daniel), b. Aug. 22, 1962 Aug. 22, 1981 

Yemen Hollis (Edward), b. Sept. 5, 1962 Sept. 5, 1981 

Moses Richardson (Henry), b. Sept. 29, 1963 Sept. 29, 1981 

Mary Wells (Roberta), b. Nov. 12, 1962 Nov. 12, 1981 

Abraham D'Puis (Frederick), b. Jan 5, 1963 Jan. 5, 1982 

The list went on. The names were written in blood, which had turned a brownish red with time, and told the tale of those who had died. No explanation was needed: these were the children who had reached the Age of Favor. Nineteen years old, the age when they would go to Him, the ultimate honor. 

Bullshit. There was no honor in being a blood sacrifice to a demon. She never attended any of the birthday ceremonies, but had caught a glimpse of Mary before she died. The children marched her to the Clearing, a large pentagram carved on her chest, all of them smiling proudly. _She is ready to celebrate her birthday; she is ready to be taken_. Something inside Erica's mind had screamed the entire night as evil approached and accepted its offering. The same thing had happened every time there was a nineteenth birthday. 

The door opened. Erica looked up as several children shuffled into the church, and they regarded her with stares of admiration and whispered excitedly to one another. The majority of this group appeared to be under twelve years old. None of them had ever seen her inside the church before, and knew it was a rare event. "The Healer," "Mistress Leah," "She has finally decided to join us," came the numerous murmurs, and they came and knelt before her like grateful servants. 

Horrified, she shook her head. "Arise, please." 

Their bright and eager faces were shining as they stood. Some of the younger ones swarmed her, reaching for her hands as if it were a sacred act. 

"I'm glad you're here," sweet, little red-haired Naomi stated. 

That sent a stab of pure white pain into her heart. Regardless of how much she avoided them, the still depended on her so much. She touched Naomi's face, and looked around at all the others. Noah's fair face; Deborah's long, dark curls of hair; Micah's quiet nature; Asher biting his lower lip uncertainly; handsome Amos, one of the older boys, watching her with a dazzling smile. As he stared a familiar heat came to her cheeks, but for once it was not from anger. It made her uneasy for some reason, and she quickly tore her gaze away. 

"Lead not thyself into temptation," a voice said clearly. 

Erica turned to spy a child already seated in the front pew, grinning darkly. Instinctively, she took a timid step backwards, and his grin seemed to widen. The one called Eli, who, as far as she could remember, had never spoken a word. Every time she was around him, he seemed to give off a wicked aura. It was hard to understand why: he was simply a small, cute boy, brown hair, deep brown eyes. On the surface, he was a teddy bear; but what lay beneath that façade? In all honesty, she wasn't sure she wanted to know. 

Mind your own business, short-stuff, she thought to herself.

__

Your business is all of ours.

The harsh whisper in her mind was strange, and she gave Eli a startled look. It had sounded exactly like his voice. His face had changed, now serious and hard as stone, his eyes boring into her like mahogany lightning bolts. Without realizing it, she shivered. Not even her mind was her own anymore. 

While the others stood around her, only one remained kneeling, her delicate hands slightly trembling. Erica reached for her. "Zipporah, please--" 

"How honored I am to be in your presence today. This means so much to me," Zipporah Dunkel smiled. 

Erica swallowed, finally understanding the reason for this mass gathering. "Today's your birthday, isn't it?" 

"Yes, Leah. I have reached the Age of Favor at long last, and tonight, the Lord will welcome me in His kingdom forever." 

Erica gently pulled her to her feet. Zipporah towered over her by at least five inches, and looked down at Erica with genuine happiness. Without thinking, she wrapped her arms around the older girl, hugging her tightly. Zipporah assumed it was merely a gesture of appreciation and hugged her back. The children sighed softly, enjoying the sweet affection between the two. She couldn't tell who was trembling anymore. 

"Stay here." Erica said against her shoulder. 

"What do you mean?" 

"Don't go into the corn tonight." 

"The Lord needs me; I must go and serve Him." 

"But I want you to stay." 

Don't go, she silently pleaded, this isn't right. You're too young; nineteen years isn't long enough! But her mouth wouldn't form the words, and she found herself clinging even tighter to the girl's dress. Zipporah eventually broke the embrace, still smiling, as if she had received a special blessing from God Himself. Oh no, please don't look at me like that. 

__

"What are you doing here?" Came a shout of fury. The children gasped and immediately parted to make a small path. Behind the crowd, Erica met the flashing black eyes of Rachel Stigman, who strode up the aisle hastily. There was only one word appropriate enough to describe this girl: bitch. If Hitler were ever reincarnated as a woman, she would be him. Ever since she came here, Erica and Rachel had clashed heads on several occasions. Time for yet another round. 

"Hello, Donna." 

Her face turned scarlet. "Unholy fool, I am Rachel! Never call me that name ever again!" 

"Boy, are your feathers easily ruffled," she rolled the parchment up in her hands. 

"Get away from there!" Erica stood aside without argument as Rachel dove for the scroll and book. "You are unworthy to receive the privilege of seeing the Lord's books." 

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, horror of all horrors. Look, I don't want to be worthy of anything here, so pull the stick out of your ass before you explode, alright?" 

Astonished murmurs from the others, but also looks of intrigue and curiosity. 

Rachel grabbed her sleeve. "Remand your soul to God, blasphemous fiend, or I swear you will pay for your ignorant ways." 

"Oh really? And how is that?" 

"Oh, there are ways. Perhaps we shall see how stubborn you are if we include a third party in this matter. Amos! Go forth and fetch Malachi! He will want to teach her a lesson."

Of course, she thought with annoyance. It was obvious to everyone that Rachel had a massive crush on Malachi. It was a sick match, the beastly disciple and the psychotic witch. And yet it made perfect sense. Though she expected Amos to run from the church, he did no such thing. He simply shifted uneasily, reluctant to carry out the order. 

"Amos! Here me not? I said bring Malachi to us!" 

She jerked her arm free. "You know, I'm so sick and tired of threats from you and from Malachi, but neither of you are backing up your words. I'm still here, still walking and breathing like always. Who do you think you are, and what makes you think I'm going to take you seriously?" 

She ground her teeth. "I am the enforcer of His ways, the one to help others follow His example--" 

"Has the concept that you're completely psycho ever entered your mind?" 

"You are a threat to the balance established by He Who Walks Behind the Rows. You don't deserve His honor, and you should never be allowed to govern His followers." 

"For the love of...I am not trying to take your place if that's what you're implying! That's something I will never want." 

More impressed glances amongst the children. No one had the nerve to stand up to Rachel, and to see the Healer do it now was refreshing. 

"You don't deserve to be here." 

"Good; something we finally agree on." She stepped down from the pulpit, making her way through the aisle, but several of the children reached out and grabbed for her. She started nervously, but they were not threatening. Noah and Jedediah smiled up at her with a new level of respect. In fact, all their faces were joyous and hopeful. She didn't quite understand why. 

"Leah." 

"We want you here with us, Leah." She glanced sadly at Noah, her stomach clenching at the sound of his voice. She ran a gentle hand through his hair. 

"And yet you are brought to your knees by the mere words of the little ones," Rachel scowled. "What do you think will happen when they have finally grown up?" 

Erica looked at her coolly. "I don't know, but hopefully, they will never become anything like you." 

"Ugh! You spoiled child! God will never show you the favor that He will surely show me." 

"You know what? I take extreme comfort in that." 

Her eyes began to glow red. "Noah! Come away from the Unbeliever at once." 

Frightened, both Noah and Jedediah clung tighter to Erica's skirt. She touched their shoulders and whispered to them reassuringly, and all the children listened closely. She stood amongst them like a guardian, and the children gathered around her protectively. 

Rachel persisted. "Jedediah! Noah! Thy skins shall be tainted with her poisonous influence. I said away from her!" 

"No." Noah's response left everyone in shock, including Rachel. 

"What did you say?"

"I…I said no." He looked at her with a set jaw, the most defiant look Erica had ever seen him give. Where did this bravery all of a sudden come from? 

"You...insubordinate little..." 

"Rachel, shut up," Erica snapped. "You think it's abnormal for anyone to have an uprising like that? Now you're pissed that he's standing up for himself? Back off. You are not the boss of these children." 

That did it. From the pulpit, Rachel picked up a knife fashioned from and old corncob. Erica swore that a great shadow suddenly overtook her face. "Thy blood will spill to make the earth fertile again." She posed to charge at any moment. 

Erica's eyes narrowed, no trace of fear in her gaze. "Do your worst, Donna!" 

"Enough!" 

All heads snapped towards the back of the church. Isaac had emerged from his private chamber, a place normally reserved for prayer and prophecies. Slowly, he walked towards the pulpit, his hands behind his back. The room became noticeably colder with his presence, the look on his face clearly displeased. He approached Rachel, and barely came up to her chin. 

"Sh-she is an Unbeliever, Isaac. She is the ultimate threat to our way of life--" 

He held up a hand. "He Who Walks Behind the Rows seeth all, dear Rachel, and he knows the heart, soul, and mind of our Healer. You must learn to control thy anger. Without it, it shall consume you and distract you from accomplishing the Lord's works. The only blood to be spilt on this day is that of Zipporah. The Lord commands it, and you must obey." 

Her eyes still flickered like black flames, but she bowed her head submissively. "Yes, Isaac. I live to only serve God." However, her hands twisted around the knife. 

Erica's eyes hardened, determined to reject any and all words they uttered. 

Isaac then walked up to Erica. "Leah Daniels." But where Rachel bowed down without resistance, this girl remained standing tall. Erica noticed he had finally gained a few inches in height; they now stood eye to eye. "Follow me." 

Her answer was automatic. "Why?" 

He arched an eyebrow, but his features remained calm. "There are matters I wish to discuss with you." 

"Like what?" 

He was getting tired of her questions. "I have information about your young charges; you know of whom I speak. Also, there is one who seeks your company, and we shall not keep her waiting. Any answers you seek shall be revealed soon, now come with me, my child." 

No, no, no, no, her mind repeated. Don't go with him, it's a set-up, it's going to be more crazy religious babble. But at the same time...something tugged at her like a taught rope, pulling her behind him. She wasn't sure why but deep down, she felt she had to go with him. Perhaps it was the fact that he wished to discuss Clayton and Sarah. Or perhaps she wanted to prove that since she could stand up to Rachel, she could stand up to him as well. In all honesty, she wasn't sure. 

"Jedediah, Noah, all of you. Be good while I'm gone, okay?" Her hands covered theirs. Their eyes shimmered sadly, but they all nodded and finally allowed her to walk away from the group. 

"My children," said Isaac, "be seated. Rachel, continue with the sharing of Zipporah's blood. She must be ready to go tonight." 

Clenching her fists, Erica followed Isaac towards the church doors. She literally felt Eli's gaze burning her skin, but didn't look at him. In one of the back pews, Amos sat quietly, seeming to anticipate Erica's approach. For the longest moment, they locked eyes, and he nervously smiled at her again. Before she could stop herself, she felt her face flush. Neither of them saw Isaac watching with disapproval. 

"God bless you, Leah, God bless you!" Zipporah called. Erica's brain went numb with sorrow and regret. The last memory she had of Zipporah Dunkel was Rachel handing her the knife. 


	9. Isaac's Proposal

He could feel her annoyance growing like a heating stove coil, and was pleased. He continued to walk a few paces ahead of her. Beneath the black hat, Isaac studied his hands. Small and youthful, without any trace of imperfections, they had been chosen to lead the way for the children of the Lord. He proudly clasped them together in front of him. He surveyed the cornfields in the distance, which were barren after the winter weather. But in a few months, warmth would revive the crop and bring Gatlin back to life. 

"Is it not a miracle, Leah?" She didn't answer. He gestured to the dead fields and naked trees surrounding them. "Look around us. When the proper time comes, this will all be different. The leaves will have grown back, large and green, the corn will be prosperous, and when autumn returns, the cycle begins all over again. Just think, my child, how such a phenomenon occurs year after year. Why does this happen? Who do you believe controls such events? Is it all some biological process that has simply gone on since the beginning of time? No. Surely nature cannot do so on its own. There must be a higher power at work, showing us all His creations and works, hoping we occasionally stop and be thankful for the lives we have been given. What are your thoughts?" He looked back, but saw that she was several feet behind him. 

She just stood there staring at the barren cornfield as cool wind blew, and pulled the shawl tight around her shoulders; they had burned her sportsjacket at the beginning of winter. Not pious dress, they had claimed, and it pissed her off. 

She almost appeared to be in a trance as she sank to her knees. Out here, she felt empty, and very, very cold. Dead, she reminded herself, everything out here is dead. Then why were the warnings still evident? Always there, twisting her insides tightly. The answer was easy: Zipporah. And Aaron, and Daniel, and Mary, and Moses...And all those who had been taken. Something in the earth was still awake and hungry for more. Silently, she brushed away remaining snow and dug her fingers into the soil; it was dark and rich in her palm. Shutting her eyes, her fist closed around the dirt. She concentrated on its coolness, its texture, but something about it felt odd. It almost seemed to be moving...alive...as if there was a steady, warm pulse in her hand. The souls of the dead were still very much present in Gatlin, still providing life for the fields. 

Several months ago, she had found her father dead in her own home; had seen her older brother for the last time as he went to confront Malachi. Mark had died while trying to protect her...he had protected her since the day she was born...She shook her head slowly. Now her father and brother were lost somewhere among the rows, fertilizer for a bloodthirsty crop. Could they see her? Could they feel her? Was it they who danced in the dirt upon her palm? 

Dad? Mark? Where are you? The longing in her heart was painful, but she restrained the hot tears that crept forth. I miss you... 

Isaac came close and cocked his head. "Paying your respects to Him at long last?" 

She ignored the question. "Why did you kill him?" 

"I beg your pardon?" 

"Mark was only eighteen when we returned that day, and I'm just as much of an outsider as he was. Why kill him, but spare me?" 

He stepped closer. "Though your brother had yet to reach the Age of Favor, He Who Walks Behind the Rows saw him fit for one and only one purpose: to provide the fields with the sacrifice of his sins." 

She squeezed the dirt again, clenching her teeth. "He had no sins to die for." 

"In your biased opinion, Leah, but the Lord had looked deep into his soul. And yours. Be thankful that He has at last cleansed his unholy spirit. Your brother would have brought nothing but unrest and rebellion within this sacred place." 

Her voice was calm, but bitter. "So you counteract by killing him?" 

"'Tis not about my wishes; it is what He commands." 

"Spoken like a true puppet." 

"You still deny His divinity?" 

"I have since June, so why would I stop now?" As the words left her lips, the dirt in her hand suddenly became like a hot coal. With a surprised gasp, she flung it away and tried to shake away the burning sensation. Grasping her wrist in shock, she discovered the throbbing scarlet mark that had appeared over her entire palm. It looked to be a second-degree burn. God, it stung so badly! She bit her lip hard and tasted blood, plunged her hand into some snow, but even that wouldn't banish the pain. When she looked at Isaac, he was smiling smugly. 

"He is listening always, dear Leah." 

__

Mine. 

Healing powers took over, and the burn gradually shrank away to reveal peach flesh again. Narrowing her eyes, she stood and faced Isaac, the boy who had kept her nightmares alive and true for the past ten months. "So why keep me? I don't understand: I've caused more chaos around here than anyone else has. I hate your god, and I hate being here! There, I said it. Happy now? I bet you hear complaints from Malachi and Rachel all the time, don't you? How I don't belong here, how I'm nothing but trouble. They just want me dead; they want me out of here more than anything else in the world. They're your dedicated little followers, so why don't you grant them their wish, Isaac? Why not?" 

He looked at her calmly, remaining quiet a long time. How she wished she could peek inside of his mind, to catch a glimpse of his devious little thoughts, as he began to circle her slowly. The wind blew again, ruffling her skirt and causing shivers to run down her spine. She didn't like the silence. She didn't like the feeling of his eyes boring into her backside. What was it he was searching for? 

"How innocent thou truly art," he said quietly, almost soothingly, "to be so unaware of the plans He has laid out for thee. Aside from your Gift and its obvious benefits, there is more to your being here than you choose to realize. God admires strength in His children, including His daughters. All through your life, you have faced challenges and hardships, merely to find your place in the world. You feared to play with other children at school, did you not? It had nothing to do with shyness; no, you knew you were _different_ from them all. Always have been. You feared to expose your secrets and your family had you convinced that it was a curse. An insult to God! He blessed you with your abilities, and it is time you understood it as so. Too much time has been wasted hiding within thyself and hiding behind thy brother, time that should have been spent praying to the Divine One. God created you, and created the path that you are to take. Only He can comfort you when thy heart is troubled." He surveyed every inch of her before meeting her face-to-face. "God has brought you to us because you belong here. Admit it: the young ones accept you without question and without a second thought. When have you ever felt so welcomed in your entire existence?" He reached out as if to cup her cheek. "God has extended His hand to you; do not slap it away." 

She slapped Isaac's hand away. 

Annoyed, he clasped his hands together as he stared into her eyes. After a while, he softened his features and gave a humorless laugh. "So hardened has thy heart become." 

"Keeps me from falling apart," she hugged herself. 

"Your stubbornness clouds your mind." 

"Actually, I like to think of it as my link to rational thought." 

"Too stubborn to accept the truth; that is the battle raging within you. That is why thy heart has been so troubled, and it explains the void in your soul, Leah--" 

"I...am...not...one...of...you," she hissed. 

"In His eyes, you are." 

"I don't give a damn what I am to Him," she stated as evenly as possible. "You and I do not, nor ever will, worship the same god, Isaac, so get that into your pre-pubescent little skull." 

She expected a cry of outrage, perhaps another slap to the face, one of Malachi's favorite hobbies. Do your worst, she thought. 

She blinked when he smiled approvingly. "Such anger," his voice was low. "Even after all this time there is no room for acceptance?" 

"No." 

He scanned her once more. Slowly. "Thou art a stray sheep who must return to His flock. You are needed here, Leah, not only for your Gift, but also your leadership qualities." 

She felt like she might be sick again. "What are you talking about?" 

"Why you were chosen to receive the gift of Healing. He knows you possess strength, knows you will not run from a challenge, knows you will unite His children unto Him." 

"Like hell I will." 

He smiled. "It has already begun." 

Her brows knitted. "I don't understand." 

"Come now, be thou blind to thy own influence? Dost thou not see the impact you have upon the young ones?" She shook her head mutely. "You are the first miracle they have ever witnessed, and there are still murmurs about the day you survived that accident. Since you arrived, you have grasped the hearts of all who are here, moreso than Rachel, Rebekah, or anyone else. 

"Of course, Rachel is necessarily strict with them, and is so for their own benefit. However, you have shown them compassion and respect, and therefore, they congregate towards you as opposed to Rachel or the others. Surely you recognize the way Micah follows you around, or the way Amos stares whenever thou art present." Her face turned pink, and deep down, Isaac felt a wave of disgust. "Obedient to the Lord they are, but what does the future hold? What if they begin to fall away from His path? That is where _you_ come in. They are all astounded but impressed by your boldness. It is because of you that their faith in God is strong and true, and it is you who can bring them back to Him. They see you as His advocate, one who performs the miracles of He Who Walks Behind the Rows, and the mother figure they desperately seek." 

Now she was really going to be sick. "Children can't be mothers to children." 

"'The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: He leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul: He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for His Name's sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for Thou art with me; Thy rod and Thy staff They comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: Thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.' Psalms is quite a memorable book of the Old Testament, do you not agree?" 

"Oh, shut up." 

He smirked again. "Thou art their shepherd, Leah, and you shall always be so." 

"I don't want this." 

"You have not been given a choice." 

"This...is bullshit." 

"Nay, my child, it is not. And cease from blemishing thy tongue with the language of demonic adults!" He snapped. When she didn't flinch, his eyes grew harder and he watched her for a long moment. A stubborn child; that summed up Leah Daniels in simplest terms. Of course, Malachi managed to come up with various ways to describe her: ungrateful, hopeless, spoiled, selfish, uncooperative, an embarrassment in their lives. Sometimes, even Isaac had to wonder why God had sent them such a difficult girl, why He had chosen her over every child in the world. And yet...he remembered that God was wise and knew all that would be. She was _strong_. She had fought inner battles, faced foes, cast a spell of intrigue over the children of Gatlin, all for the sake of her own heart and mind. But what if those efforts could be turned? What if she came to embrace _them_? If she grew to eventually accept the Lord as her savior, then she would become His ultimate weapon in cleansing the earth of sin. It would take time, and an abundant amount of patience, but perhaps it could be accomplished. Yes; time was the key to all, and here, all they had was time. God had chosen wisely, and Isaac would never question His ways. 

"I do not wish to see you harmed," he changed the subject, "so hear my words. You are capable of great things, and the Lord wishes only to see you succeed. He has told me so many times, and despite your constant resistance to His ways, He has grown quite fond of you. Consequently, I have grown quite fond of you, and I refuse to allow anything to happen to happen to you," he was smiling eerily. 

"Fine job you do with Malachi," she muttered uncomfortably, rubbing her cheek; it was his favorite place to inflict injury. 

"Hmm. He shall be spoken to." He removed the hat, holding it before him very properly, as if preparing to say something important. Oooookay..."Thou must come to realize the potential we could have together." 

Her eyebrows shot up. "What??" 

"Have thee any idea what influence we could hold? The only children blessed with the Lord's power and wisdom: I, His voice; you, His miracle servant. Simply imagine how wonderful a world this will be, with you and I leading the children to salvation." 

She had stopped breathing sometime ago and took a step backward, shaking her head. What he proposed was utter lunacy: rule Gatlin with Isaac to please some corn god? Fuck no! She swallowed hard, attempting to re-open her dry throat. "Look, whatever plot you and He Who Tills the Soil--" 

"Be careful," he warned. "You tread a fine line with your choice of offensive speech." 

She swallowed again, strengthening her voice. "Don't hold your breath about joining you to convert the kids into your little corn-kingdom," she was shaking with deep buried fury. "There...will never be...a you and I. Ever." 

He half-smiled, the wind sweeping through his short black hair. "As you wish, child. But where will you be without your faith in God? I assure you that one day, you are going to need it." It sounded like a threat. He glanced at the horizon again, listening to a message on the breeze. "Your presence is requested in the Clearing tonight." 

"No." 

"Zipporah would be most pleased--" 

"I said _no_." 

He looked thoughtful for a moment. "Tell me, why did you not celebrate your fifteenth birthday last month?" 

She stiffened; it wasn't a question she expected from anyone. Still, she remained brave and answered. "I chose not to." 

"Why is that?" 

"Look, I don't have time for this. I need to get home and take care of my twins." Before she could take a single step, he gripped her arm firmly. Her eyes flashed, but there was also an underlying sense of nervousness. "Let go of me." 

"Your children can wait." 

"I said let go of me!" 

"But I have not yet given you your birthday present." 

"I don't want anything from you," she struggled against his hold. 

"Nay, I have something you want very much, something that I am sure you have missed very dearly." He pulled an item from his pocket, and opened his hand. Her eyes widened and she ceased struggling, hypnotized by the object there: her father's wedding ring. 

She quickly snatched it away, her fist closing tightly around the cold circlet. For months, the ring had been lost, just like her father was lost amongst the fields of Gatlin. At last, she had found a part of him again, and it filled her with a sudden rush of peace as she had never felt before. Thank you for finding me, Dad, she thought, bringing it close to her heart. It was far too large when she slipped it on her finger, but for now, it would do. Then she gave Isaac an accusing glare. "How did you get a hold of this?" 

He made a poor attempt to hide a smile. "Rebekah brought it to me after finding it upon you. I decided to keep it safe until the proper time came." 

She gaped at him, suddenly dumbfounded. "You..." 

"It is rude to not say 'Thank you' to reward a good deed." 

Such an overwhelming sense of exhaustion suddenly invaded her brain, making the world spin like a merry-go-round. "God, go to hell, Isaac." 

He laughed. "May the good Lord forgive you for your blasphemous words and thoughts, Leah." He finally began to walk away, returning to the Clearing for another Age of Favor ceremony. 

But she looked after him, trying several times to force the words out until she succeeded. "You said someone wanted to see me. Who?" 

He stopped, angling his head so that he saw her from the corner of his eye. "You will find her in your home. Esther has an announcement for you." 

The name was enough to make her stomach lurch. Great, first an offer to join forces with Isaac, and now..."No Isaac, I don't want to see Esther right now. I can't take another announcement from her--" 

"I am afraid she insists on seeing you," he interrupted. "Surely you cannot deny her request, not in her fragile state." 

Oh, the rat bastard! She felt as if a blow had shattered her chest, and she rubbed the ring, hoping to achieve some comfort. It wouldn't come easily. Esther's face came to mind, glowing with foreign warmth, and she sighed heavily. 

He smiled. "She will be grateful to you." 

Shit. "What about the twins? What did you need to tell me about them?" 

He could sense the sudden protective tone of her voice. "Tell them the Lord has forgiven them. And you." 

She frowned. "For what?" 

"For being Unbelievers, for you were not present the day He Who Walks Behind the Rows made Himself known. He speaks to me, and tells me He shall hold you in His embrace forever." Everything went blank in her mind at that. "Consider my offer, child, for He eagerly awaits your response as well. Happy belated birthday." And he walked across the fields, leaving the stunned girl in the middle of the deserted road. 

****** 

"Erica!" 

Two distinct voices, one frightened and one relieved, cried in unison. It had become a ritual whenever Erica returned home: Clayton and Sarah would bound down the stairs and out the door, leaping off the wooden porch, and she would be knocked onto the sidewalk as they swarmed her with hugs. The only times they were happy anymore was when their beloved friend was near. Unable to suppress it, she laughed weakly, wrapping her arms around them. 

"I'm home, my babies, I'm home," she whispered, kissing them softly. 

"Where did you go?" Clayton asked, never removing his head from her shoulder. 

"I had matters to attend to, sweetie, but I'm home now." 

Sarah choked on a sob. "You were gone a long time." She began to shake uncontrollably. 

Her heart broke at that. "Yes, yes I was," she stroked her hair. "Sarah, hey. Hey, calm down, all right? I'm here now." She swept tears away from the child's cheeks, cupping it in her palms. "Listen to me: I will never leave you, understand? No matter what happens, I am going to always be with you. I promise. Do you hear me?" 

She still trembled, but nodded and rested her head on Erica's free shoulder. 

Before any of them could say another word, Jason appeared in the doorway, biting his lower lip uncertainly. "Umm...Erica, we...have visitors," he sputtered, running a hand through his thick black curls. 

Her eyes darkened. "I know. What does Esther want?" 

Just then, David Greenlaw emerged from the house, a tall, brown-haired boy of seventeen. Okay, this made her nervous. Jason shifted uneasily. "It's more than Esther." 

But she didn't blame Jason for this at all. Erica stood slowly, clutching the twins' hands in her own. "David, what's going on?" 

David answered with a smile. "Please, come in, Leah, we have much to tell you." 

****** 

Esther Crew was in the living room, along with her younger sister, Miriam. God, they both looked as is they had been drugged. Such faraway looks in their eyes, such reverence, and such silence from the both of them. They both cast their faces to the floor as soon as Erica walked in. Like every other girl in Gatiln, they functioned like robots half the time, mechanical and routine, and completely submissive. Rachel might have been the town bitch, but at least she had some sort of personality. 

Upon seeing Esther, Erica nearly burst out crying. Everytime she saw her very prominent, very pregnant belly, she couldn't restrain her horror. The first time she told Erica about her pregnancy, she had screamed until her lungs burned. Esther took no offense, though; she was too happy to hold any grudges. _I carry a child of the Lord_. Now the children were having children, an earlier thought echoed inside her head. This was wrong on so many levels. 

"Leah? Do you need to sit down?" Esther's concerned voice seemed too distant. 

"Yes," she brought a hand to her forehead. "Clayton, Sarah, go upstairs and wait for me." The twins obeyed and scurried off without protest. Jason had to assist her as she stumbled towards a chair. Something was causing her instincts to go into overdrive yet again, but she couldn't decipher what. "Jason," she whispered, "go watch the twins. Please." He obeyed as well. She pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to distract herself from the headache. "H-how much longer do you have to go, Esther?" 

She gave a subdued smile, running a hand over the bulge beneath her skirt. "Only about another month. I eagerly await the little one's arrival." 

She snorted under her breath. The child's father, Jacob, had already reached the Age of Favor last month. What were they going to tell the child when it grew up? _Your father was part of our sick cult, and we decided to sacrifice him to our God when he turned nineteen. And guess what? The same thing will happen to your mother. But don't worry; you should feel honored!_ Yeah, great. 

"What brings you here? What did you want to tell me?" 

"Oh, I'm not here to reveal anything today. She is," she pointed to Miriam, who sat beside David. Despite her modest expression, Erica could have sworn that she was glowing. 

Wait a minute...she had seen that look before... 

"Mistress Leah, our world has seen many joys since our Liberation, especially with your presence here. Well, today is to be no exception. I wanted you to be the first to know the wonderful news." She came close, kneeling beside Erica's chair and taking her hand. She looked at David, then Esther, who nodded her approval. She whispered, "I, like my sister, am with child." 

There. It had been the same look Esther gave her when she announced her "good" news. She couldn't move, couldn't scream. She really couldn't. The wind had been knocked out of her when Miriam said this, and she struggled to pull oxygen into her lungs. 

"David and I believe I'm about two months along, so we may have a brand new child by the end of summer. Is that not wonderful?" She brought Erica's hand to her belly. "Can't you just imagine what a little miracle a baby will be?" 

Erica gasped and yanked her hand away, as if she had forced it to touch fire. It reminded her of the soil she had touched. Breathe, must remember how to breathe. Her shoulders were heaving. How can this be possible? Breathe. First, Esther, now Miriam was pregnant? Pregnant with David Greenlaw's son or daughter. Breathe. But what about marriage? Shouldn't they be joined before deciding to make a child? No, marriage was a practice of the adults, and therefore unacceptable. And not practicing marriage gives them a chance to procreate with as many girls as possible, creating new lives for God. No, no, no, no.... 

"Leah?" 

This time, the tears streamed down her cheeks as she locked eyes with the young girl. "Miriam," she wheezed out, her stomach still stiff with pain, "you're only fifteen years old." 

She barely smiled. "Be fruitful and multiply, so saith the Lord God." 

The world became a swirling mess all over again, sending her guts for a nauseating roller coaster ride. Erica had to lean forward and rest her head in her hands. She was crying, but only tears came instead of sobs; her exhausted body wouldn't allow it. 

Miriam's small hand touched her cheek, guiding Erica's eyes to hers. "I ask you for a blessing on this day, Healer, for only you are able to grant me such an honor." 

She could not speak. Looking back and forth between Esther and Miriam, the pregnant Crew sisters, her heart began to quiver. Esther's belly proudly swollen with a precious child; soon, Miriam would mirror the elder sibling. David would die in two years, leaving the mother of his child behind to face the hardships of single parenthood...up until she turned nineteen. Sarah came to mind; would she suffer the same fate someday? Would her small belly swell with child at a tender age, unable to care for herself, let alone a baby? God help us all. 

Miriam, still smiling subtly, touched Erica's forehead to hers, letting her rest there. The girl was happy. Erica considered this a moment, astounded by what an impact she truly had on her, and then the tears came even faster. Her damp eyes closed slowly, bringing her senses to a merciful darkness. 


	10. Sarah

She hated this. She had hated it ever since the first day. Sarah lay on the grass, feeling the softness caress her backside as she stared at the sky. Oddly enough, the world seemed to be all gray, making it appear as if she were trapped inside an old movie. Then, gradually, colors began to seep into everything. The grass became a rich green, the sky a clear sapphire hue, her hands a normal shade of peach. She sighed in relief, letting her eyes watch the sky again. But then something strange began to take over. It took her a moment to realize that she couldn't move her arms, as if they had been tied to the ground, yet there were no restraints binding her. All her limbs went numb. She turned her head to the side gasping as the grass grew longer...taller. Soon, there were towering stalks of corn surrounding her from head to toe. Then an unseen force turned her eyes back to the sky. It became darker, ocean blue, morphing into navy, into midnight, almost black, and Sarah felt the fear turning her insides to ice. And suddenly, everything from above began to fall. A blanket of eternal darkness coming to cover her cornstalk coffin...and the last memory was of two great red eyes... 

Sarah awoke choking hard. Her room was dark, but nowhere nearly as frightening or suffocating as her nightmare. No, not dark. Not completely, anyway. Moonlight cut through most of the blackness, shining pale beams through the window and onto her quilt. Bringing a hand to her throat, she tried to suck in breaths as deeply as she could. Dream, she thought, just a dream. She knew that there was sweat beaded upon her brow, so she automatically wiped it away. One hand was clutching a crayon; beside her lay a piece of drawing paper. It had become an unconscious habit to draw while she dreamt. How she wished she could just reach over to her nightstand and turn on the lamp. Electricity...nothing more than a distant memory in the town of Gatlin. She picked up the page, crawling across her bed to see it in the moonlight. She scanned it with a growing sense of dread: a cornfield of tall, green stalks...and something resembling a great black cloud behind it all, rising, growing large and consuming. She swallowed. Beneath the scene, she had scrawled childish red letters: He Who Walks Behind the Rows. 

Tears sprang to her eyes. Dropping the page on the floor, she slipped quietly from the room. 

****** 

Sarah finally felt safe tucked within the crook of Erica's arm. It was a position the two assumed almost every night, since Sarah's nightmares had become a frequent problem. Erica didn't ask questions; she didn't need to. 

The room once belonged to Sarah's parents, but it was the only bed big enough for her friend. She lay wide-awake, studying the older girl's face as she slept. How peaceful she seemed. No trace of fear, concern, or disturbance in her countenance. It was as if she was transported somewhere else within the confines of unconsciousness, somewhere far from Gatlin and the murderous children who dwelled in the corn. It was a form of escape, and Sarah desperately wished she could go with her. 

She couldn't bring herself to disturb her, though. She had earned the rest she desperately needed... 

__

They heard the front door close, and all was quiet. Far too quiet, in fact. Sarah came downstairs first. She found Erica, alone, curled in the chair, hands covering her face. The slow rise and fall of her shoulders was the only indication of her breathing, but even then there was no sound. Sarah could think of no other way to describe her appearance except...weak. 

"Erica?" 

She lifted her head. Sarah bit her lip when she noticed how bloodshot her eyes were. For a long time, they remained that way, silent and staring, pain racing through both of their hearts. Eventually, Erica opened her arms, and Sarah walked into her embrace without a word. They held one another tightly. Only now did Sarah feel the harsh shivers shaking the older girl's limbs. 

"What happened?" 

She just shook her head mutely. 

"Why did they make you cry?" 

A heavy sigh. "They don't know any better," she whispered. 

She pulled back, gently wiping stray tears from Erica's face. "Don't cry." 

She smiled, though it came out wobbly and small. "Hard not to." 

"You cry too much. I don't want you to." Erica's lower lip quivered. Sarah hugged her again, wrapping her little arms around her neck. "You're okay, you're okay. I love you, Erica. And Clayton loves you. And Jason, he cares about you, too. We all love you. You always have us." 

Erica, who was at a loss for words, held her close and wept on the child's shoulder. 

Erica would see the most recent picture in the morning, and it would join several other pictures on Sarah's bedroom wall. A mural to the future, she called it. It was to show that her gift was not anything to be ashamed of. Sarah appreciated the gesture, but deep down wondered how she really felt. Every time she saw a new drawing, her face fell further and further. Did she think of her as strange? Cursed like she was? No, she assured herself firmly. There was only trust between them, and she had no right to question that. Ever... 

__

Dave Gilman had brought Sarah to the Daniels' home for a surprise visit. Sarah had already hurried upstairs, eager to find Erica. Her bedroom was empty, but then she heard sounds coming from the bathroom at the end of the hall. Her smile faded; something was wrong. They were the sounds of anguish, torture even. 

"Damn it!" Erica's voice. 

Yes, something was definitely wrong. 

"God, stop it! Leave it alone, please!" Sobs that would have broken a million hearts. 

Sarah's brow furrowed, confused and slightly afraid. It took her a while to recognize that...she was doing something to herself. Something harmful. 

Wait, she told herself, you have to wait. Why? What is going on in there? I need to know. Wait. Just wait...not yet... 

She opened the door. "Erica?" 

She was on the floor, lying over the side of the bathtub. She turned her head, revealing a tear-soaked face. Her eyes were actually pale, and she looked as if she might be sick. "Sarah..." 

"What are you doing?" She asked in a timid voice. 

Then Erica's face reflected deep and utter shame as she gazed at her small friend. She turned away, shaking her head. 

She wants to be alone, she realized. Sarah ignored the thought and came closer, her stomach lurching when she saw blood. Erica didn't move as she came into view. The little girl's eyes widened when she saw Erica's bleeding wrist...and the bloody knife held in the other hand. 

"Oh," Sarah breathed. There was so much blood staining the white porcelain of the bathtub. 

Erica had been slitting her wrists, but her ability to heal prevented her from achieving the goal of death. Even now, the freshest cut was healing before their eyes. 

"Doesn't it hurt?" 

She sniffed. "Only at first." 

Kneeling beside her, Sarah grasped the wounded wrist, tracing a line of blood with one finger. Erica was trembling beneath her touch. "Why are you doing this to yourself?" 

She had to take in several breaths before forming words; loss of blood had left her light-headed. "I h-hate this, Sarah. I c-can't be n-normal; I never h-have been. And when Clayton broke his ankle...God, I'm a freak," she swiped the blade across her veins again, grunting as the blood came forth. It bled, but then began healing immediately. 

She dropped the knife in the tub, which clattered briefly. Sarah reached for her. "Don't touch me," she jerked away, trying to sound strong, but her voice was cracking. "I'm disgusting." 

Sarah's heart broke. She came and cupped Erica's face in her small hands, forcing her to look in her eyes. The older girl hadn't the strength to refuse and locked swimming eyes with hers. 

"He won't take me," she whispered. "Why won't God take me?" 

"Because you aren't supposed to go to Him yet. He needs you here." 

"Why?" She moaned. "Why would anyone need me?" 

"I need you." 

"Sarah...I'm a monster." 

Despite those words, her face was warm and kind. "No. You're wonderful." Bringing Erica's wrist to her lips, she kissed it lightly, not caring that the corner of her mouth was stained with a fresh drop of blood. "Clayton is better because of you." 

Stunned, Erica felt frozen in place for what seemed like eternity. Even though this ability was frightening to her, frightening to so many others, Sarah had been the only exception, even when she was seeing such a graphic display. Wonderful, she repeated to herself. Only Mark and Dad had ever said anything similar to her. 

Sarah wiped away her tears, jarring her back to reality. 

"How am I wonderful?" 

Sarah gave a small smile. "You're my friend." 

Her heart expanded, and she thought it might burst within her chest. Sarah put a tiny hand on either side of her head, pulling her close and placing a small kiss upon her forehead. Unable to protest, Erica rested against Sarah's chest. 

She thought about those who had changed Gatlin for the worse. Isaac scared her; Malachi terrified her. And now they had fooled everyone else into believing them. She hated them, wished Isaac had never invaded their town. Of all places in the entire world, why Gatlin? Why her home? Why, indeed. Questions she was sure not even Isaac would answer would weigh on her mind forever. But being beside Erica helped chase the worries and fears from her heart. 

For the most part. There was still one thing causing her soul to go cold. He Who Walks Behind the Rows. Though she wished to deny it, deep down she knew He was here. He was real. He had claimed this land for His own, and the children had become His toys. They were all trapped in the palm of His hand, and there was no escape for anyone, unless they sought death as their only release. 

Oh Erica...

With her forefinger, she reached out and lightly traced the features of Erica's face. The curve of her cheeks, the slope of her nose, a silent exploration over her friend's face. Making a memory. She used to do so with her parents all the time, to always remember what they looked like. What if she never saw them again? She never wanted to forget. How could she? Mommy's face went like this, she drew her finger on a sharper angle across Erica's cheek, remembering the square jaw her mother once had. Mommy's face felt pretty, she thought sadly. 

Her hand trailed downwards, discovering the old piece of kite string tied around Erica's neck. From it dangled her father's simple gold ring. 

__

"I miss my Mommy and Daddy," Sarah mumbled, barely audible. 

"I know," Erica was gazing out the window, letting images of Dave and Susan Gilman emerge in her mind. They were good people, loving parents. She missed them, too. 

"Do you miss your daddy?" 

She whispered, "Every single day." 

Sarah came close. "Tell me about him." 

She hesitated. "I don't know what to tell you. What do you want to hear?" 

"Something happy." 

"Most of my memories aren't happy, Sarah." 

"But there has to be something. Wasn't there?" 

Erica pondered the question for a long time. And then she actually offered a smile. "Sometimes after lunch, we would share an orange. He'd cut it unevenly, and then he'd always give me the bigger half because he said I needed the extra vitamins. We would eat, and he would talk to me. I didn't say much, but I was listening. He talked about the day, Mark, school, work, and anything else that came to mind. The last time we had a conversation like that, he was asking me about being home-schooled." 

"Home-schooled? Why?" 

"We'd moved around a lot when I was growing up, trying to find a place I'd feel comfortable living in. When we came here, he hoped it would be the ideal place: a small town, small population, and a small school. I hated school. The kids were cruel and always thought of me as some sort of alien. I was beat up a few times, and some of them were grossed out when I healed afterwards. Even some of the teachers avoided me like a plague. This time, he wanted to prevent it from happening, so he offered to have me tutored at home. Mark was completely against the idea, though." 

"How come?" 

"He thought I'd never be comfortable stepping out of the house ever again. He wanted me to find friends and be more independent. He meant well, but I just couldn't do it. Not yet." 

"But you loved Mark, right?" 

"Of course I did. He was my brother, and he looked out for me, and he loved me, too." A pause. "Sometimes, Dad would talk about Mom, but not much. I think he was scared to tell me about her." 

"Why?" 

She released a careful breath. "He thought I'd blame myself for her death. He didn't want me to believe that." 

"Did you?" 

"For a long time, yes." 

"Why?" 

"What other explanation was there for me to understand? And when I find out about this...healing...I thought it was all my fault. Like some problem with me ultimately killed her." 

"No, Erica..." 

She shook her head. 

"Have you ever seen pictures of her?" 

"Only a few. They've faded, though." 

"Did she look like you?" 

"A little. I have her hair, and Dad said she had blue eyes." 

"Was she pretty?" 

"She was beautiful." 

Sarah bit her lip nervously. "Do you miss your mommy?" 

"Yes, Sarah," she whispered without a second thought, "I miss her." 

The last memory faded to black. Sarah let the ring rest in her palm, admiring it in the faint dark. She wished she could give Erica a better life than this. But what could she do? How could a small, meek-mouthed girl who found pleasure in drawing weird pictures, playing Monopoly, and l playing old records bring happiness back into someone's life? 

A wave of fatigue washed over her. Not wanting to think anymore, Sarah snuggled up to Erica as close as she could, her hand closing around the ring as it lay on the older girl's chest. Under her fist, the steady drum of Erica's heart pulsed beneath the skin, hypnotizing her back to sleep. 

Please stay, she thought. Stay for me and Clayton. 

Sarah's only friend outside her family...the only other person she could ever look upon as a mother. 


	11. Faith?

'And the devil that deceived them was cast into the lake of fire and brimstone, where the beast and the false prophet are, and shall be tormented day and night forever and ever.' Revelations, 20:10.   
  
She paced about the hayloft as she read. Erica had memorized the scripture verbatim, but still looked at it from time to time. Clayton had given her the page torn from the Bible, explaining that he found it on Officer Hodgekiss' body, knowing it was a critical piece of information. He and the minister were using it, trying to defeat the demon god, though were thwarted by a goon and his knife. The passage was underlined in red, part of the New Testament. Oh, would she be punished if they found her gazing at the writings of the New Testament. If only Clayton had known what it meant. Unfortunately, she was not exactly clear on its message, either.   
  
What was it the Blue Man and the false minister were trying to achieve?   
  
God damn it.   
  
She glanced outside. From the barn, one could see everything. Everything being the cornfield, the Clearing, and whatever events were taking place. She would rather be stabbed to death by Malachi than to set foot on that horrid holy ground again. Holy ground, she scoffed. It's nothing more than a killing field. Still, there were times when she could not help but wonder what took place out there. At least watching from a distance was safe, no matter how awfully her stomach churned. Seeing without being seen. She knew another innocent Outlander had been taken out there this afternoon. A woman, probably in her forties. Wandered into Gatlin innocently, thanks to the confusing directions of the old man. She had seen her in town early in the morning, but she was immediately captured by the others. Didn't stand a chance, and Erica made no attempt to save her. What could she do anyway? Now they awaited the coming night and waited for the Lord to accept their fresh offering.   
  
So lost was she in endless thought that her ears never detected the faint creaking of the ladder behind her. Did not notice anyone emerging into the hayloft, watching, studying silently. The aching of her stomach increased, and she thought the Outlander must be suffering at the hands of the children. Though she could not see her, she could feel the poor woman sobbing inside her head...   
  
"Leah."   
  
She froze, but only briefly; she knew the voice. Turning slowly, her eyes locked with the intruder's.   
  
"Amos."   
  
  
  
Isaac smiled knowingly to himself. He could hear the Lord's continued pleasure with the way he conducted His children, especially His young Healer. Despite how stubborn she behaved, all was going according to His plan.   
  
In his private chambers, Isaac received his orders from God, accepting them with open ears and an open heart. He spoke of the thriving crop and the thankful Earth. He spoke of the blood He demanded from any Outlanders, for they were the profaners of the unholy. He spoke much of the girl and her Gift, and her profound influence over many of His flock.   
  
She would believe. She _had_ to believe. Isaac knew she couldn't deny God's presence forever. In fact, the turn of the tide had already begun. Though she still managed to put forth a solid front against those loyal to Him, Isaac had seen her eyes. The fatigue and weakening spirit buried deep within those blue pools. They had grown darker over time, and he could tell it frightened her. He had even been granted the special chance to glimpse inside her mind: the wall she had built around herself was breaking.   
  
Despair often drove her into the arms of Amos Deigan, one she held great respect and affection for. Ever since the day he defied Rachel's orders, the Healer seemed to hold an immense amount of gratitude towards him. But it was more than that, unfortunately. Isaac had seen the way she looked at him, and the way he looked at her. The way her flesh would turn sinfully red in his presence, the heat causing her to tremble as if she was cold, how she would shyly turn away when he smiled, how only he could touch her arm and she would not recoil in disgust from the contact. Oh yes, Isaac had seen all of this displayed within the girl. Just like any other child in this world.   
  
One of her last hopes...as well as one of His.   
  
Though Isaac was less than enthusiastic over their developing friendship, he had to admit the boy was useful. It was not simply game of silly feelings between the two. The girl actually _talked_ to him. No insults or defiance, just ordinary, pleasant conversation. It was a form of respect she ought to show all who dwelled in Gatlin, but didn't. It would have to be remedied soon. She _cared_ about him, had opened her heart to another. Amos had no idea how much power he held over this girl, and Isaac had to make it known. After long months of failure at trying to mold the Healer, he finally had a link to her. Amos would know that he was the only one who could show her the truth, and it would be his responsibility to bring her to them.   
  
_Yes._   
  
It is Your will, Lord, Isaac thought to himself.   
  
Even now, Isaac sensed the Lord's pleasure, sensed Amos drawing the Healer further and further into His embrace, and he smiled again.   
  
  
  
"Don't," she said rather weakly, pulling away from Amos' arms.   
  
"What? What's wrong?"   
  
She stepped back, hugging herself. "You should go. It's not safe for you here."   
  
"You once told me it's not safe anywhere in this town."   
  
"I did, didn't I?" She walked back to the hayloft opening, watching the Clearing with tired eyes. The wind blew gently, bringing a faint sound into her ears. The faint screams of the terrified Outlander, the last sounds she would ever make before her blood spilled over the fertile soil of the fields... "Well, I wasn't lying when I said it."   
  
"I didn't accuse you one way or another."   
  
"I know."   
  
From behind, Amos placed supportive hands on her shoulders, squeezing lightly. She almost shivered at his touch. "I don't believe you're a liar."   
  
"You're the first," she muttered.   
  
"Besides Sarah and Job? And Joseph?"   
  
She didn't bother correcting him about their names; no one seemed to be getting the message anymore anyway. "They've always trusted me."   
  
"Isaac doesn't think you're a liar, either."   
  
She scowled. "I don't want him thinking about me in the first place."   
  
He chuckled. "Okay, I'm sorry I mentioned it."   
  
"Well, since we're on the topic, any idea what the Wee-One is up to?"   
  
"Aside from handling matters with the Outlander, I'm not sure. He wishes for you to come to the Clearing tonight."   
  
She rolled her eyes. "Won't he ever get a clue?"   
  
He shrugged. "He's a persistent little guy."   
  
"That's putting it literally."   
  
"He has shown you much favor above everyone else, and as a result, you have been allowed to achieve much more independence than anyone. What if he begins to think differently? What if you lose his favor?"   
  
"You seem to forget: I don't care what he thinks."   
  
"Don't you?"   
  
A pain of sickness hit her stomach as he said it. The sudden inquiry confused her, though she couldn't decipher why. Whatever the reason, it caused her cautious state to flare up again. "What if someone is spying on us?"   
  
Amos bent close to her ear. "Are you afraid of them finding us together?"   
  
She turned to look at him. "Aren't you?"   
  
He shook his head. "I don't care, and weren't you just saying you didn't care what Isaac thought? The girl I know wouldn't allow herself to be controlled by the thoughts of others."   
  
Good point. So what prevented her from believing in it?   
  
He smiled. "You're someone I want to be around, and I'm not ashamed of letting everyone else know." He pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her entirely. "I like you right here."   
  
Sighing, she snuggled against his shoulder. Of all the girls in Gatlin, some older and prettier than herself, Amos had chosen her. Why her? How she'd gotten so lucky was a mystery in her mind, but she held him closer. The seventeen-year-old's body was warm and comforting. They remained that way for a time, and she had to admit how good this felt.   
  
And yet..."You better go," she said softly, "they may come looking for you."   
  
"Let them. I don't want to go." It was statements such as that that made her heart soar. He was willing to defy the wishes of the other children, and the God she refused to acknowledge. Pulling back, Amos' hands ever so lightly cupped her face, and she closed her eyes, savoring the gentleness of his touch.   
  
But then she felt an odd softness caress her skin. When she looked at his hand, she saw the white cloth bandage wrapped around his palm, stained through with his blood.   
  
"Your hand," she pointed.   
  
"Hmm? Oh, it's nothing."   
  
"Yeah, sure. Let me see it."   
  
"Really, it's not a big--"   
  
"Shut up and let me see it," she commanded at last. Amos made no further attempt to protest and obeyed. As she caressed his hand, he couldn't help but notice how soft her skin was. She untied the bandage carefully, her brow furrowing at the long gash there. Fresh blood still rose forth like a shining stream. "How did this happen?"   
  
"I was skinning a rabbit for lunch; the knife slipped."   
  
"That looks awful. You ever skin a rabbit before?"   
  
"No."   
  
Of course not, she thought dryly. "Well, try not to move for a minute."   
  
He gasped, tried to jerk away. "Please, you don't have--"   
  
Her grip became vice-like. "Hold still," she said quietly, and he finally did. Placing her hand above his, she closed her eyes and concentrated, feeling the warmth grow beneath her skin again. Amos' eyes never left her face, watching every exquisite emotion she displayed. From uncertainty, concern, control, and then pain. He was amazed when he realized the gash was slowly fading. She grunted in discomfort as her palm sliced wide open like a ripened fruit, bleeding immediately. It was only momentary, then the wound began to automatically close. She sighed in relief when it had healed, wiping the stray blood on her skirt; she could always wash it later.   
  
Amos examined every inch of his now flawless hand. "W-why did you do that?" He asked incredulously.   
  
Her heartbeat gradually slowed to a normal pace. "Why wouldn't I?"   
  
He smiled gratefully, his mahogany eyes locked with her blue eyes. "Thank you, Leah."   
  
She swallowed. "You're welcome."   
  
Silence. An unspoken minute lingered between them, neither one breaking eye contact. The way his voice sounded when he said her name...if only it had been her _real_ name he used. She could feel the heat turning her face red, and she cast her eyes down before it got worse.   
  
His fingers tilted her face up to his, forcing her to see him. They had shared many a tender moment with one another, but nothing as intense as this was turning out to be. She could feel tension, but it was a good tension. The kind that caused everything else to fade into the background, and was followed by anticipation. She knew something would happen, but what that something was...Everything froze for an eternal moment as he bent down to place a delicate kiss on her cheek. Her breath shuddered pleasantly, the pit of her stomach twisting in mute excitement. The first kiss she had ever received from another. Did it always stir up such odd feelings? His lips lingered there a long time, causing an incredible heat to surge throughout her body, and sending her mind spinning.   
  
He pulled her close, letting her head rest against his shoulder. "You're beautiful," he whispered.   
  
"No," she tried to protest, but the words died on her tongue. Why would she want to stop this anyway? What was wrong with her? His hand stroked over her hair in long, languid movements. It had grown quite a bit over the past year. She closed her eyes, wrapping her own arms around the tall boy's waist. She just wanted to savor this rare, peaceful moment, one she had not experienced since losing her family.   
  
"I want them to know how much I care about you, and I intend to prove it to them."   
  
"Amos, please..."   
  
"No more hiding. I'm not ashamed of making ourselves known."   
  
"You don't need to prove anything to anyone. It's none of their business."   
  
"Do you care about me?"   
  
"So much," she whispered hoarsely.   
  
His breath became momentarily shaky, and he held her tighter and kissed her forehead. "The feeling is more than mutual."   
  
She wondered if this is what it felt like to be genuinely happy, since she experienced the emotion so little in her life.   
  
And Amos was still hugging her, almost triumphantly. "You are lost no more, Leah."   
  
Her brow furrowed, confused at the sudden statement. "What?"   
  
"And when you return to the Clearing, you will be showered with forgiveness, and acceptance from all shall be your reward."   
  
Slowly, very slowly, her eyes opened. "What?"   
  
"Forgiveness from the Lord and His children; they eagerly await your return."   
  
She pulled back, looking him dead in the eye. "What do you mean?"   
  
His entire demeanor seemed to change before her eyes, which frightened her. "Just what I said. Come to the Clearing with me; show them you are not weak, as they profess you to be. They will see you have conquered the corruption you've been exposed to at the hands of Outlanders and Unbelievers everywhere. I want them to see the same strength I see in you."   
  
At first, she had dismissed the churning in her stomach, thinking it was due to the situation with the Outlander. But it was beginning to dawn on her that that was not the case at all. Amos had been the cause of her heightened senses.   
  
Unlocking her arms from his, she took a step back. "Why are you here?"   
  
"You know why."   
  
"I'm not so sure of that anymore. Tell me: why are you here?"   
  
To her horror, his lovely eyes took on the same distanced look she had seen in the others. "I was served with a calling, Leah, one where I was instructed to show you the error of your ways."   
  
No! "Amos, you know exactly how I feel about this entire thing--"   
  
"Which is why I was determined to bring you back," he interrupted. He turned away slightly, staring off into the distance somewhere. "You belong with us."   
  
"I am not property."   
  
His hands tightened on her shoulders, to the point where it was inflicting pain. "You belong to Him eternally. You are one of the Lord's perfect creations, and yet you choose to deny it. Your stubbornness really does cloud your mind. I can assure you, though, the Lord will see fit to forgive you, no matter what you may think or do."   
  
She tried moving her lips, but no sound came forth. "Amos, you're hurting me," she managed to gasp, fearful. She struggled lamely, unable to loosen herself from his solid grasp.   
  
His eyes were boring into hers now, his grip never faltering. "You have grown to accept me in your heart. What makes you think there is no room for the acceptance of the Lord?"   
  
She wanted to die right then and there. How could he imply such a terrible idea? With every word he uttered, she felt the strength fleeing from her limbs. "Amos, stop..."   
  
"Say you'll come to the Clearing with me."   
  
"You're crazy!" Her voice was not as strong as she hoped it would be. "What happened to you? You were my friend and I trusted you! You've let them control your thoughts, you hypocrite!"   
  
"I'm seeing the truth!" He challenged. "I have found faith in the one and true God. All that has occurred has been made possible by the Lord. It was because of His orders that the corn is thriving. The sin is being banished from this land. He has provided us with everything we need to survive, and it was He who liberated us in the first place. Isaac was right: the adults were causing nothing but chaos here, and that's why everything was dying. They were nothing but evil."   
  
Tears had already dampened her cheeks. "The only thing evil around here is the way you think. Like _them_."   
  
His hands squeezed her shoulders again. "I will honor and obey the will of He Who Walks Behind the Rows. And it's about time you did, too." Bending down, he pressed a hard kiss to her reluctant mouth. Only then did he let go, causing her to sigh heavily in relief, her hands massaging her sore shoulders. "I wish to be with you, Leah, but you must end this game before it is too late. If you seek forgiveness, I know the Lord will still bestow great favor upon you. I'll pray for you."   
  
And with that, he walked away, leaving the hayloft and returning to the Clearing to prepare for the sacrifice.   
  
Erica didn't move. Her broken heart had left her paralyzed, only the torrents of tears cascading from her eyes. Amos had been a companion she confided nearly everything in. Everything. How much had he relayed to Isaac behind her back? Enough to convince him to trick me into being one of His followers, she thought. Isaac had used Amos to get to her. How filthy it made her feel to know that her first potential romance had turned into a ruthless backstabbing. All of a sudden, the good memories of times spent together were agonizing. She had even allowed him to get close to the twins, remembering how happy their faces looked whenever he swept them into his arms. What would have happened if h had gotten to them, too? He held so much promise, and any dreams had been shattered by the manipulative ways of that fucker of a God.   
  
Amos, you were my friend...   
  
Falling to the ground, she felt numb again. The sickness had ebbed away a bit, but would grow strong later that evening when the Outlander was taken. Foolish to believe she could trust another. Foolish to let her heart lead her down that inescapable path. Blinded by her faith in another, and she paid the ultimate price. She would never trust anyone again, save for Sarah, Clayton, and Jason. Her only hopes, the only ones she should have trusted in the first place.   
  
'And the devil that deceived them was cast into the lake of fire and brimstone, where the beast and the false prophet are...'  
  
Then she did something she had not done in a long time, if ever: she began praying.   
  
God, she thought, are You there? Her shoulders heaved with unsteady breaths. Are You really there? Are You the way I remember You to be? Because I desperately need Your help. I'm pretty sure You know what's going on here: the one called He Who Walks Behind the Rows...this demon has taken over their minds, and I can't let it happen to me, nor to the ones I love. But I don't know how much more of this I can take. It all seems so hopeless. Please help me...help me...   
  
In the fields below, the wind stirred the corn, the rustling sounding like whispers on the breeze.   
  
Outside the barn, Malachi laughed to himself, since he had heard every word exchanged between Amos and Leah.   
  
In the Gilman's house, Sarah suddenly felt an overwhelming sense of sorrow, but didn't understand why.   
  
In the Clearing, Amos sat tall and proud amongst the others, pleased with the interlude between him and his beloved Leah.   
  
In the church, Isaac smiled when he heard the Healer's desperate plea to God, knowing another victory had been won.   
  
And all around Gatlin, an unseen hand was closing tighter and tighter on all inside the town.


	12. Progeny

It was late when Naomi shook her shoulder. "It's Esther, Leah. You need to wake up! She calls for you. Please wake up, Leah, please..."

Not Leah, her mind automatically repeated. Erica remained somewhere between sleep and awareness, not completely registering her words. The eight-year-old tugged on her arm, and Erica obediently followed like a walking dreamer. Her body seemed to be swimming slowly through thick mists, telling her what to do and what to say. It had grasped her in its palm. Behind them, she could hear Jason's voice, confused and demanding. She didn't hear what he said, but understood his confusion.

"Joseph," she mumbled drowsily, her eyes barely open, "watch Sarah and Job." She never knew the words left her mouth; she never realized she called him Joseph...that she had said Job instead of Clayton...

A breeze picked up as Naomi led her through the deathly quiet town, growing stronger as they approached Esther's house. It made the leaves rustle, almost sounding like whispers in the dark. Her hair, which had grown significantly longer, whipped around her face. Erica remained only half-aware, but uneasiness began to seize her heart. Her mind began to struggle for release from the trance, battling against the ever-tightening talons of its grip. But it had grown strong, and continued to paralyze all rational thought.

When they reached Esther's house, Naomi lit a candle and immediately led her upstairs. Gradually, her mind was starting to sharpen. Where am I now? Where are the twins? Where's Jason? Who's holding my hand? Why do I feel like I'm going to be very afraid in about ten seconds?

More like five seconds. It wasn't the anguished moans that brought her back to reality; it was the earsplitting scream that followed. She blinked and shook her head, the darkness of the bedroom seeping into her eyes. She saw Naomi, who still clutched her hand, her tiny candle flame creating a dim glow in the room. Erica's jaw dropped, her stomach clenching, as she took in the sight of Esther on the bed. Her very swollen belly was prominent beneath the bed sheets, her labor pains throwing her into fits of despair. Rebekah and Abigail both grasped her hands, their faces white with sheer fright. Esther screamed again, sweat pouring off her pale brow.

"Oh God! I can't do this!"

"It'll be over soon, I promise!"

"Get it out of me! It's killing me!"

"You have to relax," Abigail dabbed her face with a cloth, "keep breathing, Esther, it'll be alright!"

"It's tearing me apart! It hurts so much! Get it out of me, now!"

Erica took frightened steps backward. So much of her wanted to claim that she was still trapped in some sort of vivid nightmare. This is not real, this is not real. Her back pressed against the wall, and she slid to the floor, covering her face. Nothing would make the sight disappear from her mind. This is not right! She's in so much pain. And then there was the distant echo of her earlier belief: children shouldn't be having children...

Why are You doing this? An angry voice in her mind demanded. The mental torment wouldn't end.

She jumped when Naomi tugged on her sleeve again. "She's screaming so loud! Please, Leah," she pleaded innocently, "can you do something to help her?"

Erica stared at her for a long time. In all honesty, she didn't feel there was anything she could do for Esther. Labor pains were needed to insure a healthy birth, and she doubted she had the ability to absorb such pain; it was not something that could be healed. But her lips trembled at the thought. She hated seeing anyone in such agony, and she could not merely brush it from her mind.

Well, obviously not, she thought as she stared at the pregnant girl in bed.

How strange that there were older, braver girls still existing in Gatlin, girls that knew more about childbirth than she did. And yet, they all depended on her. She was their foundation, the one to call for help in any matter. She suddenly felt the heaviness of everything weigh her shoulders down to the floor. Their Healer, their hope, guidance, wisdom, light...she was all of this to them. How could she handle such an immense burden?

"Leah..." Esther weakly whispered.

That struck her deeply, and she closed her eyes and clenched her fists. Erica unsteadily got to her feet, willing her sickness from her thoughts. She did not matter now; Esther needed help. "Where's Esau?"

"He's home."

"Is he aware that Esther is about to give birth? He used to read books about medicine and whatnot."

It was Abigail who spoke. "Childbirth is strictly a responsibility of women. Men need not tempt their eyes with the perfection of a woman's body while bringing new life into this world."

"Isaac, you son of a bitch," she mumbled. They all stared at her. "Oh nevermind. Naomi, run outside and get a stick." The girl shot her a confused look. "Just do it. Quickly. Rebekah, find me a clean, sharp knife. If you can, find a bottle of rubbing alcohol to sterilize it. Abby, you stay and help me keep her calm. That's most important. Esther? Listen to me, you need to calm down. You'll only make it harder for yourself and the baby if you keep throwing fits. I know you're scared, I know you are in a lot of pain, but we're here and we're going to help you. Hush now, hush..."

It continued like that for the longest time, Esther writhing and screaming in her bed, biting down hard on the stick Naomi had found; it seemed to help. But soon Esther began to relax and breathe more steadily. Blood and birth fluids began staining the sheets, but Erica still pushed her revulsion aside. It was almost time.

Just get her through this, let her get this over with, let her pain come to an end...

"Alright Esther, listen to the sound of my voice. It's time to get this baby out of you, so I need you to push when I say so. Are you ready? Okay dear, _push_."

She screamed, a sound that made all of them cringe. "It's okay, it's okay." She couldn't tell if she was talking to all of them or herself. "Just like that, Esther, keep going. It'll be done with soon. Push." The contractions gripped Esther's muscles, and her eyes widened in surprised pain. She gripped Abigail's hand hard, who had to bite her own lip to keep from crying out. The minutes felt like hours. Days. Time seemed to stop altogether. As the baby's head came into view, Erica was battling everything inside of her: fear, nausea, confusion, hate, anger. They were all fighting for dominance of her heart and soul, and this she could not allow. She had to keep a clear head at all costs, no matter how much He tried to praise her for good works. How pleased He was to see her take care of His children.

Leave me alone! Please!

Esther was bearing down, forcing the baby out of her with what strength she could find. She ended up snapping the stick in two. With a final push, the tiny body appeared in Erica's bloody hands.

Naomi clapped her hands happily. "She did it! The baby's out!"

"Hear that Esther? You did it! You did it!"

"Leah?"

She blinked. In her arms lay a naked, newborn child, its skin blue-toned and covered with fluids. It immediately started crying. Erica stared at it, horrified. How perfect the baby was...Its cries brought a fresh round of numb tears running down her cheeks, and tremors shook her body. "It's a girl," she whispered harshly.

Esther's head was thrown back against the pillows in exhaustion, but managed to wheeze out, "Eve! It's Eve."

And the rib, which the Lord God had taken from man, made He a woman, and brought her unto the man. Genesis 2:22.

Eve. The first woman.

"God bless you, Leah, God bless you," Esther whispered.

Don't say that, her mind answered, but never looked at her. She could only gape at the bundle of live flesh that was soaking her dress. She couldn't move; she didn't think she could ever move. Wave after wave of horror flooded her mind. This proved that His plans were progressing further and further. Now He had a new child to call His own, to bring continuous joy to His land.

He's succeeding. Holy shit, He's succeeding...

Rebekah came to cut the umbilical cord with the knife, and brought a blanket. Erica mechanically wrapped her in it. Eve Tobin, daughter of Jacob. The first child born in Gatlin. Born in innocence, no chance of ever having a normal life. Forever to be under the watchful eye of He Who Walks Behind the Rows. Oh my God...

"She's beautiful, Esther! You're a proud mother of a blessed little girl."

"Naomi, say a prayer to Jacob's soul. He will be proud to know his daughter has been born..."

The words died in Erica's ears. Distantly, one thought echoed in her mind: _He is pleased_. She held Eve in her arms and wept.


	13. Loss of Innocense

A week later, Esther turned nineteen.

In the Clearing, Miriam stood with baby Eve in her arms, watching as her older sister disappeared into the cornfield, never to return again. Her purpose in life had been fulfilled, and now she proudly walked into the embrace of the Lord.

Behind her were the other children of Gatlin, all witnesses to the voluntary sacrifice of Esther Crew. Amongst them was Erica. Silent and still as a statue she was, only thinking about Eve, who was now just as much of an orphan as the rest of them. Beside her was Amos, looking peaceful and pleased to finally have Leah with him. On her other side stood Jason, his face grave and dark, with Sarah and Clayton in tow; this was clearly the last place they wanted to be. The twins simply looked terrified, but Erica wasn't doing or saying anything to calm their frantic thoughts.

Clayton watched her warily. All she did was stare straight ahead. The lids of her eyes were half closed, as if she was barely awake. In a sense, she was. Somehow, her eyes had developed the same vacant look that most of the others possessed. She didn't speak, didn't move. It didn't matter anymore. He also found it very odd when she hardly reacted to Esther's screams, signaling He Who Walks Behind the Rows' acceptance of her sacrifice.

None of it mattered. How frightened this made the young child.

Isaac came forward, looking amongst his children with solemn pride. "The sacrifice of Esther Crew is complete. Her soul will provide the holy fields with the nourishment they need. The Lord is pleased with her eternal devotion, and we must strive to make our hearts as pure as hers. Blessed be the Lord and His great works. Praise God, praise the Lord."

"Praise God, praise the Lord," the others murmured.

Approaching Miriam, he smiled eerily. Now she would be responsible for her sister's child, and soon she would also be a mother herself. Her belly was in the beginning stages of swelling, a small mound prominent beneath her long skirt. Isaac muttered a few quiet words to her, and she gave a short bow. David was soon by her side, who took hold of her arm with an aura of possessiveness.

"And now, my children, another night draws to an end. Depart and return to thy homes, and may God bless you all."

Dismissed, the crowd began to shuffle into the rows of corn, feeling as if they had witnessed yet another miracle of God with the passing of Esther.

"I shall see you again tomorrow," Amos placed a light kiss on Erica's forehead, but she didn't feel the contact. Jason shot Amos a sour look, but he didn't appear to notice. He hated how the older boy had "claimed" Erica as his own, and every time he touched her, he became infuriated. It was one of the few times when he would have been more than happy to take a sickle to his throat. But then he looked at his friend; she just wanted to leave. Automatically, her hands sought the twins' as they made their way from the Clearing.

However, their retreat was cut short when a cool blade suddenly thrust out in front of Erica, barely an inch from cutting her throat. She flinched only briefly, but then looked at Malachi with a look of bored annoyance. "It's getting old."

He didn't remove the knife; he simply looked at her with narrowed eyes. "You still showed weakness."

"What do you want?"

"Isaac requests a private meeting with you as soon as everyone departs, dear Healer," he finally sheathed the knife, "and it would be wise to do as you're told for once."

"Why?"

"Because obedience is necessary to maintain order, you fool!"

She didn't even blink at the outburst. "I meant why does Isaac want to see me?"

He scowled. "The Lord requests it. I do not question His will, and neither should you."

Clayton was dimly hoping for her usual defiant comeback so they could finally go home, but--

"Fine." His expectations were horridly crushed by her proclamation. "Joseph," she put the twins' hands in his, "take them home."

"Erica," Sarah meekly interjected, "I don't like this. Come home, please." The look in her eyes broke her brother's heart, as well as Jason's.

But the older girl ever so slowly turned and said, "Go home."

_Cold_. Her voice was so, so _cold_, so void of all emotion, and caused tears of ice to sting behind Sarah's eyes. She actually cowered behind Clayton a bit, who stood with a stunned countenance. Even Jason couldn't believe how she had spoken to the young girl. He gaped at her with an open jaw, but shook himself back into reality, a harsh fire growing deep in his belly.

"Come on you two, Erica will be home later," he encouraged them forward, giving her a mild look of anger. The twins followed, trusting Jason more and more with every passing moment as he led them through the fields. It would still be months before the corn grew back...though it was odd that there were grown stalks surrounding the Clearing itself. How in the world...?

Forget it. There were no answers.

What was happening to Erica? Ever since the birth of Eve, she had become strange. The coming of that child seemed to have triggered a complete turn-around in her behavior and her strength. But why had it become out this way? How could such an indestructible soul have crumbled in so short a span of time? He glanced at Sarah, her eyes downcast as they continued on. His heart went out to her. It had already affected her far more than any of them realized. The one person she actually had something in common with...the one who possessed a strange gift just like her...How could she speak to her so awfully?

Eventually, the trio was well out of sight of the others, and they secretly breathed sighs of relief. Clayton studied Sarah again, sad to see that her eyes were still down. Then something caught his eye, something that hanged around Sarah's neck: it looked to be a piece of kite string, which disappeared beneath the bodice of her dress. "What's that?" He pointed to it.

Sarah automatically gasped, clutching a small hand to her chest, as if she had just been caught committing the world's greatest sin.

Jason placed a patient hand on her shoulder. "It's alright. Let us see what it is."

Timidly, she pulled the string out, revealing a gold trinket on the end of it. Clayton examined it closely, and recognized it as Mr. Daniel's wedding ring. He went stiff; Erica would _never_ have parted with that! "Sarah, where'd you get it?"

She swallowed. "Sh-she gave it to me."

"But why?"

"Because she said she didn't need it anymore. Told me not to show the others."

This was not good. He wasn't sure why, but he knew it meant something extremely wrong. He glanced up at Jason, who looked just as shaken as he was.

----------

They were alone in the Clearing. Erica stood as Isaac approached, a macabre figure walking through the night. He paused within a few feet of her, and they both stood, both the same height, both wearing blank expressions on their faces. Then he lifted his hand, grazing his knuckles softly against her cheek. She didn't move.

"How beautiful you are becoming."

A slight pink tinge came to her cheeks, but it disappeared quickly.

"Sit down, my child," Isaac motioned. "Please."

Erica sat upon the soil, close to the existing cornstalks, hoping this meeting would be brief. The darkness had cast a blanket of chilliness around Gatlin, and she hugged herself to warm her skin. "What do you want?"

Removing his hat, Isaac stood before her, gazing at her with an odd glint to his dark eyes. "The Lord is proud of you, Leah. Dost thou realize this?"

She rolled her eyes slowly.

"Esther will never forget the kindness thou hast shown both to her and her daughter. And Miriam shall always be grateful. You do know this, do you not?" Silence. "Answer me, Leah."

"Yes."

He stepped around her with long, deliberate steps. "Her sister's sacrifice was an important one for this town. Do you know why?"

"No."

"It shows all of us how true the Lord's presence is amongst us. The birth of Eve shall ensure the procreation of holy life and purity as it was always meant to be. She will know only good, honesty, love, and no Unbelievers will take that away from her."

She raised an eyebrow. "What the twins and Jason?"

He gave a humorless laugh. "Do you really expect them to form a resistance? Nay, child, you will see: they shall accept the truth with time."

She wasn't looking at him. "And what about me?"

He became quiet. "And what about you, Leah? You came to the Clearing tonight. If I did not know any better, I would believe thou hast already grasped the hand of the Higher Power."

What are you trying to prove? Her mind was asking.

Then she felt his fingertips flutter over her shoulders, his hand stroking in her hair. "So beautiful you are, indeed."

She didn't like this. "Stop it."

"I will not cease to express that which is true." He stepped away, his back turned to her as he stared at the night sky above. Tilting his head, he almost seemed to be listening to some voice in the distance. "Perhaps I have been instructed to tell thee every day for the rest of your life. If this is true, Leah, could you really deny the Lord's request and live in shame under his watchful gaze?"

Alright, she'd had enough. She made an attempt to rise, but suddenly felt a strange restraint on her wrist, pulling her back to the ground. Gasping, she looked to see what had grabbed her: the long leaves of the cornstalks_. The cornstalks??_ They had sprung to life and were actually holding her down. Then they wrapped around her other wrist...and the part of her that was still sane suddenly snapped back to life. She finally managed a strangled cry, but it seemed no more than a peep. Before she knew it, she was being dragged back, close to the corn, where more leaves wrapped around her ankles. Tears blurring her vision, she twisted in attempt to loosen their hold on her. Her efforts turned out to be worthless, as the leaves tightened with the strength of actual hands. It hurt. Any tighter, and they would probably slice her hands off. She stiffened, dumbfounded by what had occurred. This is crazy! This cannot be happening; it's impossible! How could these plants have such a strong hold? Hell, how can they be even be moving in the first place?

They turned her over gently until she faced sky. She lay there, her chest rising and falling heavily, and beads of frigid perspiration forming on her skin. And then there was Isaac looming over her, his young face impossibly emotionless. It almost didn't even look like him.

Through the numbness of her nerves, she felt only one thing: fear. Pure black fear. "Is--aac?" She choked out.

Kneeling, he made no move to assist her, but ran a chilled hand over her brow. His touch made her nauseous. "You must realize this is being done for the good of the Lord. Therefore, you will understand what I must do."

Understand? What must I understand? But at the same time, her senses were being overwhelmed by fatigue, causing part of her mind to shut down, making it impossible for any rational thought to break through. Something was forcing her to bend, and it wouldn't stop until she broke. What was happening to her?

No, this is wrong...this is...it...can't...be...oh...God...

The corn was rustling again, as if a breeze had swept through and caused the vegetation to whisper. But there was no wind disturbing Gatlin's fields.

----------

It had become late, but Jason, Clayton, and Sarah waited patiently for Erica's return. The boys sat on the couch, reading books that had long been banned by Isaac. On the floor, Sarah was surrounded by papers and crayons, and drew silently. Beside her, a small record player released music to a song called "Runaway." It calmed her.

The front door opened. There was the initial cry of relief from the twins, who bounded up to greet their companion.

"Erica! We were so worried--"

They skidded to a halt. Silence fell upon them when they actually saw her appearance. A sickly pale face and empty blue eyes greeted them.

Jason emerged from the living room, his eyes widening when he saw her. "Erica?"

Her eyes slowly focused on him. Or _were_ they focused? Could she even see?

"What happened to you?"

It took her a while to actually speak. "Nothing," her voice was so frail that Jason could barely hear. "Nothing happened." Then she heard the music in the background. "Turn that off. Someone might hear."

Sarah felt as if she had been punched in the stomach. "But Erica..."

"Erica, we like it," Clayton protested, "you said yourself that we could--"

"Turn it off, Job. Don't argue." Oh god, she sounded so weak! "Joseph, it's late. Get the children to bed."

Without another word, she turned and climbed the stairs, making her way to her bedroom. All they heard was the audible click as she closed the door from above.

Clayton stared after her, stunned by the way she had acted towards them. This was not the Erica Daniels they had grown to love and cherish in a matter of months. This was someone who had changed for the worse. He looked over at his sister, whose shimmering blue eyes looked ready to spill over. "What's happened to her, Sarah?"

Sarah didn't answer. She clutched at the ring hanging around her neck, wishing it would bring her some sort of comfort. I didn't. Clayton came close to put an arm around her. Snuggling close to him, she released her tears on his shoulder. It made him feel awkward. He didn't know how to soothe her, but he knew he had to try. After all, this was his twin, and they had to be strong. "It's okay. Don't cry; we'll be okay."

Sarah said nothing. She only thought of the most recent drawing still lying on the living room floor: a character closely resembling Erica falling through the sky.

----------

She had crawled into bed. Lying there, the events of an hour ago replayed itself in her mind...

_"Be not afraid, Leah..." _

Why is this happening?

"...it is simply the will of the Lord...

How did it come to this?  
_  
"...and I obey His commands."  
_  
Isaac above her, his black eyes darker than ever, still talking bizarre nonsense in a hushed voice, touching her skin...and forcing himself into her over and over again. She should feel sick; she should throw up in revulsion over what had happened; she should be attempting to kill herself again, to end the torment of that event forever burned into her memory...

But she didn't.

It was a situation that could have easily been handled. He wasn't a strong boy. If she had concentrated enough, she could have found the strength to shove him away, or cry out, or...something...

But then why didn't she?

There were no answers coming to mind. At one point, that realization would have frightened her, but it no longer had any effect. No gut reactions, no frantic thoughts on how to escape, no yearning for life outside of this hell. Nothing; there was absolutely nothing.

_Leah...Leah...You are Mine.  
_  
No objections.

_Forever.  
_  
Staring up at the ceiling, she felt weak, but not tired. However, she gradually felt herself being pulled into a dreamless, black sleep.

_Rest now_, something was telling her, something that cradled her completely in a cold embrace. _Rest, and save your strength.  
_  
She obeyed without complaint as she felt herself fall.

And inside of her, beneath her darkening heart, two sparks of life connected and began to develop as one.


	14. Prophecy

**_A/N: Told you I was not finished yet. ;)_**

Clayton had become very good at following others. He had learned to be silent, quick, and observant, and how to find good hiding spots. Peering through the corn, he watched the activities occurring within the Clearing. He had been suspicious when Erica disappeared into the fields, tailed only by Micah and Eli. What was she up to now?

Micah sat on the ground, while Eli was sitting off to the side. As always, Eli's expression was cold, only the barest hint of a grin touching his icy lips. Micah, however, looked thoroughly confused. Erica must not have explained the purpose for bringing him out here.

Her back was turned to them as she stood, letting the breeze blow against her face. Her hands were clutched in front of her, as if she was holding something. Clayton couldn't read her face. To get a better look, he would have to move closer, but then he'd be seen for sure. He couldn't risk that. Who knows if her wrath suddenly decided to explode one day? He would hate to see what she would do him. It was the first time he could ever remember fearing the girl. He never used to be afraid of her. Heck, he never had a reason to be. Anymore, though, things were just too uncertain.

She slowly turned to the boys and stepped forward. Clayton could finally see what was clutched in her hands: a small knife with a corncob handle.

"Micah Altons," she said quietly, "allow me to explain why I have brought you here today. You have been granted an opportunity that few will receive. Should there be a time of uncertainties for those amongst us, He Who Walks Behind the Rows has chosen you to fulfil His necessary duties."

Clayton was gaping in disbelief. Was she actually speaking of this god in a positive manner?

"In your soul, He sees the potential you possess: your loyalty, serenity, and honesty. These are noble qualities, Micah. You are an ideal leader and will be in the eyes of many. You have the potential He is seeking. In the event that you are needed, will you pledge yourself to the service of the Lord?"

There was a silence following the inquiry.

"Do you swear to yourself to Him?"

For a long time, Micah hesitated. In truth, he had no idea what she meant by all of this.

"Micah," she pressed.

Pledge himself to His service? Did this mean something was going to happen to Isaac? The poor boy was completely puzzled. And what about Leah? If there ever was a problem, wouldn't she make the best leader?

It was Eli who finally turned to him. "_Swear_, Micah," he said calmly, but firmly. 

He swallowed.

"_Swear."_

Clayton was sure he could detect small beads of sweat peppering Micah's pale forehead. Was he going to pass out?

"Swear your allegiance."

He tried to speak, but his voice seemed to be restricted. Did his own body not want him to say--

"Swear or be eternally damned, Micah!" Eli demanded.

Finally, not wanting to go against what anyone else said... "Yes." 

Erica came to kiss him on the forehead. "So be it. The Lord thanks you for the strength of your heart." She raised the blade of the knife to her palm and slashed across it with one long stroke. A thin line of blood appeared, and she retrieved the bowl sitting beside her. With it, she caught the blood as it flowed quickly, letting it drip into the kernel-decorated dish. Her flesh quickly healed, but she had already gathered enough blood for her purpose.

"All that are present here shall drink to your promise." With that, she took a drink of her own blood, then handed the bowl to Eli.

Eli accepted the offering without a thought, bringing the bowl to his lips and drinking the blood of the Healer. Not a drop was spilt. Then he passed it to Micah, who now looked mildly disgusted. Would he really have to do this?

"Seal the vow that you have made," she stated.

I can't do this, he thought. Not right now...not her blood...

Eli narrowed his eyes. "You imbibe the blood of those who have reached the Age of Favor. Why should this be any different?" His words were gentle, but there was an underlying sense of irritation etched in his voice.

"Well, y-yeah, but it doesn't mean I like to."

"You have not been given a choice!" The boy hissed.

It was enough to convince Micah to take the bowl. After heaving his shoulders a few times, he downed the rest of the blood in one swift movement, wincing at the coppery, bitter taste in his mouth. But he managed to force it down with a hard swallow, and he looked at Erica as if he had just done something horribly wrong.

"Leah?"

She touched his face. "When the time comes, you will be called upon to serve Him."

He swallowed again, still tasting the blood of the Healer on his tongue. "But...why me? Why am I the only one?"

Her head tilted slightly. "Others will arise," she said softly, her eyes flickering briefly in Eli's direction, "but their time has not come yet. When they, too, are needed, they will be found. In the meantime, the Lord wishes for you to accept the responsibility of shepherding His flock." Then she smiled sweetly. "Will you do this for me, Micah?"

Those beautiful blue eyes hypnotized him to a point of complete submissiveness. "Yes," he whispered.

He couldn't help it; as much as he tried to hold it back, Clayton suddenly sneezed. He froze in place. Oh no, he thought as he clutched his nose, I'm in trouble. I'm in big, big trouble. Slowly, reluctantly, he looked up to find the face of Eli suddenly above him.

"It appears we have a visitor," he announced.

Erica walked up behind him, her eyes softening when she saw the intruder. "Jobby."

It had become his identity whether he liked it or not. Everyone else in town only referred to him by the "chosen" name, and he had gotten so used it. And poor Sarah. She had been calling him Jobby for the past month now. She was so confused at the others calling him Job that she automatically followed suit. She was young and scared, though; it wasn't her fault. But it had still torn his heart in two when Erica began calling him by no other name than Job.

"H-hello...I'm sorry. I did-didn't mean to...I saw you, and--"

"Shh, come here," she coaxed, holding out a hand to the boy. Knowing he had no other choice, Clayton accepted her hand and emerged into the Clearing. As he did, he was certain the atmosphere suddenly felt colder. Perhaps it had to do with the fact that he was staring up once again at the lifeless corpse of Officer Hodgekiss. Almost a year of hanging there had taken its toll on him. Most of his decaying flesh had wasted away, gradually revealing the bones of his skeleton. The fat and muscle that once donned his cheeks now gave way to a bare, grinning skull, which sent a chill straight through Clayton's spine. It was frightening. He looked away, but could not ignore the faint stench of rot coming from the great cross.

"Since he was a witness, should he not also drink the blood of the Healer?" Eli suggested.

Clayton gasped to himself. Drink her blood? No way! He couldn't do it...he just couldn't! But she would force him. He knew it. There'd be no chance of getting away without drinking to Micah's promise.

But to his surprise, she shook her head. "No. It is unnecessary for him to do so. The vow has been sealed, and so we shall leave it at that."

Eli gave a nod. Clayton released a heavy sigh of relief.

"Micah, Eli, you are dismissed." Without another word, the boys walked out of the Clearing and into the corn, Micah glancing back uncertainly one last time. When they were gone, Clayton looked at Erica, who was now staring up at the centerpiece of the Clearing. He didn't like the way she was looking at Officer Hodgekiss' decaying form. Her face was too intent. It was as if she could actually hear something coming from the dead, cracking lips, some sort of plot his ears could not detect.

Nervously, he approached. "Erica?" 

Her head cocked oddly, but she turned her gaze to him.

"Did Isaac tell you to come out here and do this?"

She shook her head and said, "No. He knows nothing about it."

He blinked. "Then why did you do it?"

She became silent and he could sense her detachment. A long while passed before she barely whispered, "I don't know. I don't know."

He was confused to see such a look of sadness in her dark blue eyes, as well as the shimmering of tears. She then knelt beside him, wrapping her arms around his small form. His confusion only grew, but he responded by returning the gesture, hugging her as she trembled. She buried her face in his shoulder, and the familiar sound of sobs emerged from her mouth.

"Erica?"

Hesitating, she pulled back, wiping her damp cheeks, and then did something very strange. For some reason, she pressed his palm to her belly in an almost caressing manner. They stayed that way. It only puzzled Clayton, who didn't move, afraid of what her reaction would be. What was going on? What was this all of a sudden about? Whatever it was, there was a part of him that told him no good could come of this. It was as if he could feel more than her skin beneath the cloth of her dress. There was a force there, pulsating and gaining strength, something he could not fathom. He finally jerked his small hand away roughly. She did not object, an acute guilt overtaking her features. 

"Jobby?"

He sighed quietly. "What?" 

Her voice was hollow. "Would you like to be chosen, too?"

His brown eyes went wide, and he didn't answer. After just seeing what had occurred with Micah and Eli, how could he conceive of the idea? True, he wasn't ultimately clear on the meaning of everything, but it was...wrong. Simply and purely wrong. And the way her face appeared right now...Did she know how it was making him feel on the inside? Was she feeling awfully about it? He didn't want to say anything, didn't want to speak...

She didn't force him to. Instead, she stood and offered her hand again, which he accepted. It felt surprisingly warm, and together, they left the cold air of the Clearing. Unknown to either of them, Eli watched from the corn as they retreated.


	15. Confrontation

Her hand was warm the entire way home, though it did not give Clayton as much reassurance as he had hoped. He watched his friend. Her gaze remained downward and melancholy as they walked, and she didn't bother to strike up any conversation.

He glanced around at their surroundings. Some of the houses were in bad need of a new paint job, but no one would ever tend to the problem. Grass was ridiculously overgrown, and dandelions and various weeds had sprang up on the properties. Corn was already growing in the fields, knee high long before the appropriate time. He was already sick of looking at it. Every so often, the wind made it rustle, frightening him with what he thought were voices speaking out to him.

Impossible, he thought.

Right?

The main street of Gatlin led them further to the edge of town, eventually bringing them back to the Gilman's house. Once within the front yard, Erica released his hand and took a seat on the porch steps. Still silent, still gazing downward. Clayton, unsure about leaving her alone at this moment, remained standing before her, not moving. He studied her. The vacant face that had become hers was no longer empty. On the contrary, her brow had furrowed, and she looked as if a million thoughts were battling within her mind. She looked once more like the person he had once considered his only confidante.

What had brought her back all of a sudden?

He finally had to break the mute spell. "Erica?" He was determined to never call her Leah.

"What?" She whispered.

He licked his lips. "You were looking at Occifer Hodgekiss in the Clearing."

"Officer," she gently corrected him.

"Right, 'officer.'" He couldn't keep the question buried. "Does the Blue Man talk to you?"

The furrowed brow morphed into an expression of immeasurable sorrow. It made Clayton want to cry. "Sometimes."

"What does he say?"

It took a moment to gather her thoughts. It actually looked as if she was debating about whether or not to speak her thoughts out loud. But she then sighed, letting her shoulders sag. Her voice remained a harsh whisper, as if her words were a secret, and she feared anyone overhearing. "Not words...just...sounds. I can hear him," she repeated.

"What do you hear?"

The sorrow in her face deepened. "Pain. Pure, awful pain. He screams, and I can feel his pain. He screams long, loud, and hard, so bad it hurts everywhere. When he was sacrificed, he made sure his screams would be heard forever, by someone. Anyone. No one else hears, but I _can_. His soul has been tortured." She finally paused. Her eyes had changed again. Clayton had never understood the meaning of the word despair, but he was dead sure that this is what it looked like. He would remember it forever. "I hear the Blue Man. I hear _Him_. He's inside my head, Jobby," she harshly whispered, "He's always inside my head, and I can't make Him stop. Always there reminding me that I'm here, and that He's with me. And when I close my eyes, He's there. In my thoughts, in my dreams. I don't see Him, but He's this darkness I can't see through, and I can feel Him clutching to my heart, and I can almost feel it bleeding inside me." She shook her head mutely, although a sudden, strange calm seemed to overtake her. "Why won't He stop? Why won't he just leave me alone?" She finally looked at Clayton. "Why us? Out of all the people in the world, why did He choose us?"

The small boy had no answer. It was a question not only asked by her, but by Jason, Sarah, and himself. Instead, he tentatively placed a hand behind her neck and pulled her forward, letting her forehead rest upon his. Shuddering breaths passed her lips, but that was all. No tears, no sobs. Just uneasy peace. They stayed that way for a long time.

"This is so sweet I think I'll throw up," a bitter voice suddenly spat.

The pair looked up to see Malachi approaching the Gilman's front yard, his red hair long and flying behind him. Clayton's stomach dropped out of fear. Automatically, Erica stood, juxtaposing herself between the tall teen and the small boy. Clayton was pleasantly surprised by this.

"What do you want?" Her question was even and clear. "You know you're not welcome here. Isaac has told you to leave us alone before."

He scowled angrily. "He wasn't around to give me orders for once. I've come for answers that you refuse to give."

"About what?"

"It's not about _what_, but about _who_."

Clayton saw her visibly tense.

"What do you mean?"

He rolled his eyes, his patience waning. "I want to know what it is that you're hiding about Sarah."

No, Clayton thought, feeling overwhelmingly protective of his twin. If he tries to hurt her, I'll make him pay!

Erica's calmness revealed nothing. "Sarah's a special girl. She always has been to me. I don't know what you're talking--"

"Don't play stupid with me," he shouted, "the little Unbeliever is strange and too withdrawn to be considered 'normal.' I know you're hiding something about her, and I demand to know what it is! Everyone sees the way you shield her all the time; you're not being honest with_any_ of us!"

The front door opened behind her, and Jason appeared on the front porch; he had heard the commotion from inside. When he saw Malachi, his face became hard. "What are you doing here?"

"Mind your own business!" He snapped.

Jason made sure his body blocked the doorway, should Malachi attempt to storm in.

Malachi took a step forward, attempting to brush past. "Stand aside."

But she blocked the advance. "No."

"I said _stand aside_."

"No." There was no strength to her voice. Just...soft. Weak.

He sneered. "I grow tired of playing childish games with a little bitch like you. Either get out of the way, or I_will_ make you sorry!"

Erica stared at her interrogator. "This is our home, and you are not welcome. You will not desecrate it. I don't care if you're going to throw a tantrum, but I'm still telling you to go away. There is nothing you need to know about anyone here. Now please, leave."

That did it. Without warning, he slapped her hard across the face. The force of the blow knocked her off balance, split her lip, but she was completely unprepared for the fist he delivered squarely into her gut. Everything shattered into fragments of light, oxygen fleeing her lungs and not returning.

"No!" Clayton yelled.

"Jesus!" Came Jason's voice.

Her knees gave out beneath her, and she fell to the ground, where she proceeded to vomit. It hurt even worse because she was still unable to draw a breath. Both Clayton and Jason rushed to her side. Clayton wrapped a soothing arm around her shoulders, while Jason held her hair back as she continued to retch violently.

Jason looked at Malachi, infuriated. "What is your problem? She didn't even do anything wrong!"

"Don't you DARE lecture me on behavior, Joseph," he hissed. "I refuse to put up with insolence from anyone, least of all her! If she must learn the hard way, then so be it."

His anger turned his face red, and he finally couldn't contain it. "_Get the hell out of here! Now!"_ It echoed across the fields. Someone would have heard.

The older boy's face turned scarlet with fury. But he turned on his heal and walked away, probably tired of arguing with this household. "You can't hide her forever," he threatened as he departed. Despite his failure at searching for answers, he smiled to himself on the inside. It had felt really, really good.

It was the moment when Clayton developed a pure hatred of Malachi.

Jason still held her ringlets as wave after wave of bile poured out of her mouth. She managed to heave a short breath, but vomited even more. This was not good. "My God, what's the matter with you?" His words sounded rather fearful.

Clayton had had enough. Instead of waiting to see if she would be alright, he dashed into the house, tears spilling from his brown eyes. He just wanted to be with Sarah right now. He wouldn't even mind if she called him Jobby.

A minute passed, and her shoulders finally ceased heaving, trembling breaths tripping over her wet lips. Jason stroked her forehead. "Are you alright?"

She could only nod. He knelt beside her, trying to look her directly in the face. However, she was preventing this by gazing down at the pile she had created on the lawn.

"I hate throwing up," she wheezed.

"Most of us do." He paused. Something was not right about this. He didn't like the way her hands caressed her belly. Not in a manner of stomach pain...but as if trying to_comfort_ something. His eyes snapped up. "Erica, what is going on with you?"

Still no eye contact. "What do you mean?"

Now_he_ was growing tired of talking in circles. "You! You've just changed so much in a really short amount of time. I mean, one second, you'll do anything to keep the others away from the twins, but the next second, you_let_ Malachi beat the hell out of you. You_never_ used to let that happen! At the very least, you'd do or say something to put him in his place. But now," he threw his hands up aimlessly, "now you take whatever he gives. You don't even try to fight back."

Her gaze was glossy again. "What's the point?"

He gaped. "What?"

"What's the point, Joseph? What benefit do I have in fighting back?"

His head was shaking in disbelief. "You stay true to your soul, Erica. Isn't that worth the fight?" There was no response. Just the girl rubbing her tummy in long, slow strokes. Feeling the beginnings of desperation grasp him, he seized her face between his hands, forcing her eyes to meet his. "Don't you even remember who you are?"

She could only stare, her countenance becoming nothing more than a blank canvas.

Jason finally gave up. He stood and walked to the house, leaving Erica on the lawn, a mixture of anger, confusion, and frustration tying his insides into knots. He couldn't stand this. Erica had developed two very different sides to her personality. One would protect her friends, regardless of the consequences she would ultimately encounter; the second bent to the will of a demon god and his awful minions. The frightening part was that little by little, one side was beginning to fiercely dominate the other. How much longer until it took over completely? And when it did, then what?

How he wished Mark was still alive. He never would have allowed his younger sister to fall prey to these psychos. Or even Mr. Daniels. She loved him deeply once. Didn't she even know who her family was anymore? Whereshe had come from? What she had foughtso hard to preserve in the first place?

What had happened to Erica Daniels?

----------

Closing the front door behind him, he took a seat on the couch in the living room, settling his head in his hands. He couldn't believe how exhausted his raging emotions had made him. For a while, he appreciated the quiet. Soon, however, there was the scuff of small boots on the floor. Jason snapped up to find Clayton watching him from the doorway, cheeks damp and shimmering in the light. He sighed and motioned for the boy to come over. Clayton obeyed.

"Hey," said Jason.

"Hi."

Silence. Then, "I know this is scary for you right now. I'm even tired of what's happened to Erica. But you do know you can tell me anything that's bothering you, right?"

He sniffed, but nodded. Then he opened his mouth to speak, but hesitated severely. Could he really betray the trust that had been so firmly cemented with Erica?

"Hey, you want to tell me something?"

He nodded again, slowly.

"It's alright," he pulled him into his lap. "You tell me what it is, and no one else will hear it. Just you and me."

Clayton looked at him, dropping down to a whisper. "Cross your heart, hope to die?"

"Stick a needle in my eye," he concluded.

Satisfied with the statement, he sniffed a last time. "I need to...tell you what I saw in the Clearing this afternoon."


	16. Ultimatem

No one knew about this place. Clayton's father had secretly built it when he was only three years old, a safe-haven from potential nuclear strikes. Dave Gilman had made Clayton promise not to tell anyone about this place, since it was intended for the safety of their family. He kept that promise. Now it was a personal safe-haven for him and Sarah. Away from eyes, away from treacherous deeds, away from everything.

Except for Erica. But she never came down here, anyway. And for once, he was glad.

Should he feel guilty about it? Regardless of how distant and changed she had become, shouldn't he still remember that she was his friend first?

Lying on the cot, he stared at the wooden planks on the ceiling, some of which had grown dark with age. All he knew was he felt absolutely no guilt.

He glanced over at Sarah, who entertained herself on the floor with a collection of plastic horses. No words passed between them during this time. They simply enjoyed the rare, uninterrupted solitude, far away from the others and their disturbing ways.

He reminisced on the events of the day, focusing on church service that morning. It had been raining, so mass was held indoors. As usual, Clayton, Sarah and Jason were forced to sit in the front pew with Erica, since it had become her permanent seat. As always, Amos sat on her other side as her imposter boyfriend. Behind the pulpit, Isaac went on and on with his sermon, but Clayton barely heard a word, as his attention remained on the older girl. Her half-closed eyes looked as weak as ever, and she seemed to hear nothing. But it wasn't until a shift in Isaac's speech that Clayton diverted his attention.

_"'A great change is to come,' He said unto me, 'a change of celebration and wonder.' For the Lord is to send us a vessel." He stared at Erica darkly, a half-smile marking his face. "Yes, the gift of a vessel. One that shall ultimately bring joy and hope to His children, and open the eyes of others." __  
_  
Clayton had a feeling that comment was partially directed at him. Despite his anger, however, he couldn't help but feel sickened with what Isaac was saying.

Send a vessel...what did that mean?

What did that mean for everyone here?

He glanced at Erica again, his eyes shifting to her torso. Although most were oblivious to the truth, he knew she was going to have a baby. It explained her strange mannerisms lately, and her avoidance of practically everything. She was not showing beneath her dress, but would be soon enough. He was certain Sarah didn't know, and he wanted to keep it that way.

A vessel...a vessel?

Now he was down in this shelter, attempting to escape reality, no matter how brief that time would be.

His heart burned as it pleaded silently. God, please bring her back to us...

With a sigh, he finally pushed himself up, frustrated that his thoughts were getting him nowhere. "I'm going up to the house. Want to come?" Sarah just shook her head, still playing with her equestrian toys. "Okay. Just don't stay down here too long." She nodded, and her brother climbed the cellar stairs.

Carefully, he pushed the storm doors open enough to peek out, squinting when waning sunlight hit his eyes. Dusk would be approaching soon, and all was still, save for the occasional waving of cornstalks. When all was clear, he re-emerged above ground, quietly closing the door behind him. Shoving his hands into his small pockets, he walked around to the front porch of the house.

I hate it here, he thought. It used to be a wonderful place, the town he and his family lived in, where he had been born and raised. He missed his father, his mother, old Mr. Hansen and his strawberry shakes...the way Sarah used to be happy. The murder of their parents had ripped away something crucial from Sarah's soul. She desperately needed her parents in order to feel accepted in life. But they were gone. The memory of seeing his father's throat being slit in front of his eyes would never disappear, the way his blood flowed from his throat, that last look that seemed to say, _"Clayton...run!"_ Then they had found their mother in their house, stabbed in the chest several times. Her mouth was still frozen in a scream. Dead. Gone. Red with blood and hatred. He really couldn't see how Sarah was coping with all this. Her silence seemed to be an incredible mask for her, one that would protect her from everything frightening.

Now she wore that mask to hide from Erica. It was the first time Clayton realized that he'd always had Sarah's complete trust, and he intended to never disappoint her. He swore it on his living, beating heart--

Before he made it to the door, he stopped in his tracks and screamed. 

---------- 

In the Gilman's bedroom, Erica inspected Sarah's pictures on the wall. Her focus had been riveted on one for the past half hour: the first drawing she had ever made. The scene outside Hansen's Café, where children ran rampant with knives, and adults lay mortally wounded in the streets. Blood everywhere, fear, despair, children smiling...

There were absolutely no thoughts going through her mind for a time. Nothing but a blank, cold emptiness. Blinking slowly, she tried to absorb everything she could about the drawing. This was the first day, she finally thought. It seems like so many ages ago now. What has happened to all that time? How long has it been? Months? Years? Eternity? Sighing, she thought about Sarah. Did she have any idea what this meant when she made it? Does she even know what any of her pictures mean? Does it scare her when she realizes they are truths?

They used to scare you, remember?

With a jerk, she shook head, snapping from the trance. Where had that thought come from? The words seemed to be her own, but why did it feel so strange to her? It was almost like a voice from her past...one she couldn't maintain a hold of.

Something else ebbed through her mind now, as if trying to erase what she has just heard, almost like a thumb rubbing her head. Without an argument, she surrendered to it, letting it take her back into a dark gray haze.

Until Clayton's earsplitting scream yanked her back out of it. Gasping, she hesitated briefly, glancing at the drawings one last time, and then bolted from the upstairs room.

---------- 

Throwing the front door open, she ran onto the porch to find Clayton standing there, shaking. Kneeling, she took his hands into hers, eyes heavy-lidded but for once, slightly focused. Despite this, however, her voice still carried a tone of weakness as she spoke. 

"Jobby? What's wrong?" He said nothing. She grasped his hands tighter. "Hey, look at me. Jobby, look at me!" She grabbed his shoulders and gave a small shake, gaining his attention. "What is--"

She cut herself off when he pointed at the front door. Turning, she looked at the ajar door, finding her answer: a note was hanging there, pinned to the wood by a large knife.

Jason suddenly appeared from the backyard of the house. "I heard a scream. What ha--" But he too discovered the knife, stiffening harshly. "Erica? What is that?" He knelt behind Clayton, putting a protective arm about him.

She almost didn't hear him. Erica swallowed thickly, slowly rising to her full height. Languidly, she approached the door, pulling the note down with a small tug; she didn't care that it ripped.

_I know what Sarah is hiding. If you want to protect her, come to the Clearing at sunset. Alone._

There was nothing more. Three small sentences exhibiting a horrid threat.

Malachi, she thought, slowly crumpling the page in one hand. Only he could have been so overly dramatic about the placement of the note. Too long had he pried for information about Sarah, about her secret, and now he had gone too far. For the first time in what felt like forever, the tiniest of flames burned her heart again. Not a good feeling, but one that motivated her to feel _something_. 

"What does it say?" Jason persisted.

She looked at the two, Clayton behind the shield of the older boy's arm. The motivation grew warmer. "A warning."

His eyes widened. "What kind of warning?"

But she only shook her head. "It doesn't matter. The fewer people that know, the better."

"It's Malachi, isn't it?"

She glanced away, gazing at the corn as it beckoned her to come. Dusk made the world look so pretty with its hues of pink and orange, such a quiet time of the day. Amazing how it made the most dangerous times still appear lovely. Sunset was less than an hour away, and she was staring in the direction of the Clearing. 

"Isn't it?" Jason demanded.

The inquiry remained averted. "Joseph, you will wait here with the twins. I have to go to the Clearing."

"Why?" 

"I have to."

"But _why_?" This time, it was Clayton's trembling voice. He couldn't help it: no matter how much she hated the person she'd become, she was still Erica. He still loved her! She still had a heart! Why couldn't she tell him that she still cared?

Her eyes softened, and she knelt in front of him again. Her hands...they gently gripped his shoulders, and there was something familiar about her touch. Familiar and very, very comforting again. "I need to protect Sarah, and I won't let her secret be found." Such few, simple words, but so genuine. For a moment, Clayton thought he saw something that had been long absent from her face. Almost a type of...protectiveness. He nodded, understanding what she needed to do. She ran a hand through his hair. "I'll be back soon. Keep an eye on your sister. And Joseph, keep them safe."

He nodded, his lips set in a grim line.

Standing again, Erica walked from the front yard, traveling down the street leading to downtown Gatlin. Across the street, the corn watched. And waited.

In the Gilman's front yard, Jason and Clayton watched as she became a gradually shrinking figure in the distance. "Get your sister and go up to your room, okay? It'll be safer there until she gets back."

Without a word, Clayton obeyed, vanishing around the house towards the shelter.

Jason looked down the street again, seeing that Erica was many yards away. The sky was slowly growing darker.


	17. Foresaken

Three miles walking down the road brought her close to downtown Gatlin. A still, silent ghost town occupying a small part of Nebraska, still awaiting discovery by someone. Anyone. Erica veered to the left, crossing the street to enter the abnormally tall rows of corn. With a sigh, the corn welcomed her again into its green embrace. She ignored the creepy sound, and continued to trudge forward. Behind her, the corn closed her path, secluding her within its vegetative walls.

_Mine_.

She ignored it. Or she didn't object. Nothing was certain anymore. The corn gave her no trouble as she traversed down one row. It didn't move, but then again it seemed to clear a path directly to the Clearing, making her journey easier than she anticipated. Leaves like arms that guided her forward, encouraging her to never stop. Wanting her to be part of it forever. It took quite some time, but she eventually emerged into the flat, desolate holy ground, which was void of any other children. Sunset had not arrived, but it would be here soon. The sky was already painted with various dark hues of orange and purple.

Still present, however, was the Blue Man's cross. All flesh had vanished from his bones, leaving behind a withered, brown skeleton, donning a dirty, tattered uniform. So good to see you again, the grinning skull seemed to say, so wonderful to have a visitor this evening. Would you like to stay and chat a while?

The sun was descending now, and soon, the world would be blanketed by night.

Once more, she was compelled by the morbid statue, and took careful steps towards it. Her steps felt so slow, as if she were trapped in suspended animation, gradually creeping towards the sacrifice made so long ago. It didn't scare her; she was simply drawn to it. Standing in front of the Blue Man, she knelt before him, and waited.

Waited for Malachi to arrive.

Waited to hear his terms for protecting Sarah's secret. How she would hate having to see his sickening, angry face yet again, mocking her with that gross smile of his.

How had he known? Who the hell was it that leaked information to him? Had he been spying on them the past few months? Had someone else? If I find out who did this to her...

She gave her head a short shake. It had been quite some time since she'd had such a malicious thought. It was almost as if something was trying to reprimand her for it. Strange...but then it was ignored, and she concentrated again on the Blue Man hovering above. He had been watching with those hollow eye sockets since she arrived.

_Obedient servant of the Lord, child of His immortal seed, seeking the gift of eternal life in the comfort of His arms…_

_Come to Me, come to Me._

All she could do was stare back. The weight of his dead gaze made her shoulders sink, feeling everything bearing down on her with all the gravity of the world. Despite this, a fog that had clouded her mind seemed to evaporate...just a little.

Why am I here?

There was no answer; not even the sound of crickets.

What happens if Sarah is exposed? What then? I don't want anything to happen to her. For God's sake, she's only a kid. She didn't ask for this.

And neither did I.

Isaac's face invaded her thoughts. The father of her unborn child. She would always hate him for it, despise the fact that her baby would be the son or daughter of a…she didn't have the appropriate words to describe him. She still didn't understand. That night in the Clearing, when he had taken her without remorse, it never really seemed to be him. His body, his voice, yes, but not his mindset. Not his actions. Not his eyes. Oh God, how frightening his eyes were!

What had happened to him that evening?

After a while, wind blew gently, sobering her mildly as the coolness brushed her cheeks. She sucked in a breath, released it slowly.

What is it you want from me?

She heard a whisper in response. But this time, the answer was not inside her mind; it was a voice _within_ her, sending an icy message up through her chest. She froze. Oh my God. A huge lump leapt into her throat. Feeling her stomach drop, she placed a now shaky hand over her abdomen, where she knew the whisper had come from. In a rush, the hold on her mind grew steadily weaker, allowing her to see and think clearly on her own.

He wants _you_. Oh my God, He wants _you..._

Suddenly, the sharpest of pains tore into her backside, causing her to lose all traces of breath. Her vision became a terrified white light, blinding her with its intensity. The sensation was ripped out quickly, and she slowly, slowly felt herself falling forward. It seemed to take forever before landing face first onto the ground. For a time, she simply lay there, not moving. She couldn't. The pain had been too much. No air...there was still no air! She couldn't breathe. Her back felt hot and was throbbing terribly, but the worst part was her confusion, which was leading her into panic. The pain grew greater, and she finally managed to squirm, attempting to escape the torture. In her struggle, she awkwardly craned her neck around to find her attacker, to face Malachi...and then her eyes went wide with disbelief.

No, she thought, no...

She clawed her fingers into the soil and managed to croak out one word. "Jo...seph...?"

Jason held a long, bloodstained knife in his hand, which was trembling mildly. It had been the knife used to pin the note to the door. Despite his nervous state, his face was hard and serious. "I promised you, remember? I swore to never let anything happen to Sarah or Clayton. I swore to protect them from everyone who was dangerous, and I intend to keep that promise. Even if it means protecting them from you." He bent down and quickly slit both her wrists, a wound she once tried to inflict upon herself many times before.

Blood was still pouring down her back, and now rushed from her wrists in scarlet streams. The corn was crying tragically, though no one heard it but her. Oh God. He wrote the note? It was _him_? Over and over again, her mouth opened and closed, but sounds did not come forth, and air was not being drawn in. This agony was unbearable, and she would be glad when she finally healed from this ordeal...

But after a while, she realized something very, very strange...and very, very wrong: her wrists were still bleeding. The pain was not subsiding. She felt herself growing weaker with each passing second.

She was _not_ healing.

Oh my God, she thought frantically, oh my God. What's going on? Why can't I heal?

Then she realized the sharpness of pain had gone deeper than her backside. She could feel it throbbing all the way into her heart. The boy had penetrated her fragile heart.

With a look of ultimate despair, she glanced at Jason again. Her eyes had such a pathetic appearance, and Jason swallowed as he stared at his victim. Still unable to speak a word, Erica reached out a crimson-stained palm to her friend and ally. It shook as it remained in mid-air, waiting for Jason to save her. His face remained indifferent. Instead, he pushed her with his foot, turning her body to lay face-up, looking towards the midnight blue sky. It was so clear that Erica saw every star. Her chest was heaving uncontrollably, causing her even greater burning and agony in her body. But she didn't focus on that; she focused on those stars.

Why have I never seen so many stars in my life? She thought.

Jason stood over her, raised the knife, and plunged it into her heart with all his might. Dark blood sputtered forth from her mouth. He pulled the knife out and repeated the movement. A third time. Fourth time. Pulling the weapon away completely, he stood and hovered above the girl, wiping away the blood that had speckled his chin and cheek. He had to make sure she couldn't be saved.

Dear God, what have I done? He thought. But he didn't let the thought override him with guilt. It had to be done.

The squirming had stopped. Now she lay there, an ever-growing pool of blood darkening the dirt beneath her. Cold...cold...Her chest still heaved, but even that had slowed greatly. Her head lolled to the side at a disgusting angle, her eyes rolling up to look as Jason.

"Jo...seph...," she whispered, barely audible. The corn sighed woefully, a sound that faded in her ears.

He took a step backward. "For the twins." Turning on his heal, he walked away quickly, disappearing back into the cornfield, which had become eerily silent and still. She would never follow.

Erica lay there, alone, cold, dying, defeated. When she no longer saw him, and her vision became blacker, the faintest of smiles touched her lips. Smiling in the embrace of Death itself, she said, "Jason." And for the last time, the eyes of Erica Daniels closed forever.

Then all was dark.

And all was nothing.

And around the Clearing, the corn nourished its roots with the gift of the Healer's blood.


	18. Lament

Morning dawned gray and dismal, a slight chill piercing the normally warm air. For the second time, the children of Gatlin were gathered around the body of a lovely, mangled young girl, lying limp and lifeless in the middle of the Clearing. Only this time, there was no miracle. The blood covering her was old, and had never healed. For a time, they waited. Waited to see if this was all a mistake; waited to see if her wounds would vanish, as they always had before. But nothing happened. She was covered in blood everywhere, and it was not disappearing.

Their Leah Daniels, the Healer, the spark of life in their lives...gone. Dead. A corpse as immobile as the adults they had killed almost a year ago. Never to awaken in front of their eyes again.

All around, faces bore expressions of confusion, sorrow, and fear. How was it possible? What had stopped her from healing this time? This wasn't right; the Age of Favor was nineteen, and she was too young...Why was she gone? Why did the Lord take her now? Was it punishment for something? What was going to happen to them now?

She was no longer there to answer their questions.

There was the familiar sight of Clayton bawling upon his fallen friend, his face buried in her chest. He didn't care that his skin rubbed against dry blood. He couldn't accept it. He couldn't believe she was really gone. Sarah wept heavily in Jason's arms, not brave enough to look at Erica's body any longer. She had seen enough death to last for several lifetimes. And Jason...Jason stroked Sarah's soft hair, his face grim and stunned, and streams of genuine tears dripped from his eyes. Only he knew how the Healer had met her demise, but he could never bring himself to tell the twins the truth.

I'm sorry, his mind repeated, not only to himself, not only to the grief-ridden twins, but also to Erica herself. If you can hear me, just know that I'm sorry. You were never Leah to me; you were always Erica! He closed his eyes as more tears burned down his cheeks.

Amos was also on his knees beside her, clutching her clammy hand tightly, kissing over the bloodstained knuckles. His heart burned with disbelief, and his eyes were bloodshot from tears. Jason watched him. Amos had cared deeply for her, perhaps even loved her, but now his affections could never be reciprocated.

Among the children, Micah sobbed to himself, holding his pale face in his hands. The realization of Leah's death caused him to feel absolutely lost. Now who could he turn to when he felt like an outcast?

It was the mood settling into the atmosphere, one of complete and utter despair. With the exception of a select few. Malachi and Rachel stood side by side, neither one of them showing any sadness. Malachi's arms were crossed, making him appear like a cold statue. Rachel, as usual, looked on with her icy black eyes. Of everyone there, she seemed the most unaffected and uncaring about Leah's death. She was of the belief that life would go on, with or without the insubordinate sinner called Leah Daniels.

Outside the circle of children stood Isaac, whose bowed head prevented them from seeing his face. He hadn't moved for several minutes. He needed answers. He couldn't face the children unless he had an explanation for this horrific turn of events. Leah was supposed to be here, with them. A caregiver to the young ones, a symbol of reason and hope, and the reassurance that the Lord's plans were set in motion. And the vessel...no, the child. _His_ child. How could the Lord take away the child Isaac had given her? Why did He find it necessary?

He waited. He had to listen for the Lord.

Much time later, he lifted his head, his wan face appearing from beneath the black-crowned hat. He was void of emotion, and his voice remained steady as he finally spoke.

"A vision did come to me this morning, and the Lord showed all this to me."

Weakly, a few children managed to mumble, "Praise God, praise the Lord," though there was little effort behind it.

He continued. "This is a time when you may question why this has occurred, why the Lord has found it necessary to take the Healer from our lives. And the Lord has given me the answers you all seek."

Many wiped tears on their sleeves, but they opened their ears to listen to Isaac's words. After all, who could they turn to?

"Leah Daniels had been brought here for a special purpose, one she had fulfilled much to the Lord's delight. She unselfishly demonstrated her gifts when they were needed. She became a leader in her own right, but never attempted to assert her superiority over others. For this, God was pleased. She was an example which all of us should follow." Both Malachi and Rachel scowled and rolled their eyes. "Though she exhibited much resistance in the beginning, she eventually came to honor her Lord and accept Him into her heart." Jason shook his head mutely. No one noticed. "For this, our God decided her time was now. He needed her to fulfill much greater tasks and wonders, and these could only be done by His side. It was her wish as well. As a gift to us, He offered the blood of the Healer to the corn, which shall thrive immensely in the coming months." Many faces now turned towards him, his words touching their hearts. He hesitated a moment, the thought of his dead child crossing his mind again. He dismissed it. "He asks us not to be troubled by her departure, but rather rejoice in it. She is now everywhere amongst us, and shall forever be a part of the corn, the Lord's crop. Our bounty. She is with the Lord in His kingdom, and her spirit will live on in every one of us. A long as we remember her, she will never forget about us. The Lord has brought His daughter home to Him. Praise God, praise the Lord."

"Praise God, praise the Lord." This time, it was louder and stronger.

Isaac's back eyes scanned her beautiful, dead face. Beautiful in death yet again. He released a long, silent breath. "The Lord has instructed us to lay her body to rest here. She is not to be moved from this holy place. Therefore, let her rest where she lays; bury her flesh within the Clearing. But first, let us pray for her soul, for her return to our Father, our Creator."

All heads bowed in silent prayer. Isaac showed nothing, not even as his heart was breaking beneath his dark exterior.

Unknown to anyone, Eli slipped away from the gathering and entered the towering rows of corn.

---------

Clayton cried in his parents' bed later that afternoon. He had been unable to stop crying since he had discovered Erica. So many times, he told her to wake up. Stop pretending. Give him some sort of sign that this was all a bad dream. There had been nothing; only quiet.  
Erica's gone...she's gone!

The bed still smelled like her. Familiar, like comfort. He nestled his head into it, his face pressing against the dampness he created with tears. Jason had held both him and Sarah for hours, doing his best to remind them that they are still not alone. He would do all in his power to keep them safe. Clayton was grateful, but it didn't take away the hurt.

Erica, I'm sorry that I started to lose faith in you. But I didn't want you to leave us. I never wanted that! Please come back...please help me...

There was a timid knock on the door. He didn't answer. The door opened anyway, and little Sarah came in, her cheeks red and puffy from non-stop crying. She hadn't spoken a word all day. When Clayton saw her, he attempted unsuccessfully to choke back sobs.

"S-Sa-rah," he hiccuped. He rubbed his eyes, and she approached with short steps, unsure of how close she ought to get. When he looked again, he realized she had another piece of drawing paper clutched in her fingers. His stomach dropped. The last thing he wanted to see was what premonition her mind had foreseen this time. And yet...no matter how much she didn't want to see, Erica never turned away one of her pictures. In fact, she often used the drawings to her advantage. There was no reason why he couldn't do the same for his sister. With a sigh, he pushed himself up and coaxed her to sit on the bed. As she sat, he draped the comforter around both their shoulders, letting the gentle warmth surround them. His voice still wavered a bit. "What d-do you h-have there?"

Still wordless, she turned the page over to let him inspect it. He saw two figures sitting on the grass beneath a black, foreboding sky, and immediately recognized the two figures as Sarah and himself. It should have scared him, but then he took a much closer look. In the upper right-hand corner of the drawing, there was a patch of blue sky. And within that blue, there was another figure, watching over the two children from far away. It was untouched by the darkness, and appeared to be almost pushing it aside. When he realized what it meant, his heart swelled until he could barely breathe. Erica?

With a gasp, he understood the message that Sarah had brought him: at last, Erica was free. From the way Sarah had drawn her image, she seemed to be saying, "I will always be watching you." Erica had given this vision to Sarah.

And he covered his face and began to cry uncontrollably. He hated that it had to be true. He hated that this was the only way! Throwing her arms around him, Sarah also cried, not wanting her brother to feel alone. Not as long as she was with him.

"We'll be okay, Sarah. You hear me? As long as we have each other, we'll be okay. We will be…" Together, they cried for all they had lost in this real-life nightmare.

Clinging to Clayton, Sarah closed her eyes and said a prayer to herself. God, please help us. We're really scared of what's going to happen to us. We don't know what to do without Erica. Please, keep me, Jobby and Joseph safe. We don't want to die; we need You so much. Erica's face flashed through her mind again. And please, keep Erica's soul safe with You. Don't ever lose her, like we did. Please…

They remained a huddled mass of mourning and tears.


	19. Epilogue: Eli

The mourners were far behind now, shedding tears which would no doubt feed the roots of the corn. Alone in the endless cornfields, Eli walked with hands clasped behind his back, faint breezes ruffling his chestnut hair. As always, his demeanor was cool and indifferent. There were no tears, no remorse. Nothing. He knew his purpose here, and nothing would sway him from fulfilling it. Bringing a hand before him, his fingertips grazed corn leaves, the silky, soft feel pleasant against his skin. He smiled, feeling the memory of Leah Daniels forever trapped within the vegetation. The corn was whispering, and he _did_ hear it. Unlike most, he did not fear it. In fact, he listened to it, knowing the voices he heard were meant for his ears.

Sighing, he continued walking. "The Healer was not supposed to die," he stated to no one. Or so it seemed…

_It is true: she was to remain among My children, but the interference of one has changed My plan._ The voice was clear inside Eli's mind. A great, aged, dark voice, filling his head with a great echo of sound.

"Tell me, Father, why did her Gift fail?"

_It was not of My doing. Her heart had been destroyed, and it was a wound she could never recover from. Somehow, that was made sure of long ago. I am most displeased to have the fields stained with her blood._

"I understand. It is a great disappointment, my Lord."

_It is, My son. However, her extraordinary blood will give great life to the corn, and it gives comfort to the children. At the very least, she will always be among them. They will believe in this. _

He gave a short shrug. "The vessel she carried would have been most useful to us."

A pause. _Yes._

"It was to be Your child's, not Isaac's."

_Isaac was useful in delivering my seed to her. It is rather simple to persuade his young mind to do My bidding. I wished for a strong spirit to carry my own progeny, and that spirit belonged to Leah. The child would have acquired its mother's gifts, and provided greater assistance for my mission. To have two healers within My realm would have given more incentive to obey My word. _

"But the child is now with You."

_Yes. For eternity, the child's spirit shall remain with Me. _

He halted, looking off to the east. "Isaac knows nothing of Joseph's treason?"

_No. _

"Will he ever know?"

_I find it unnecessary for him to know the actions of one Unbeliever. As difficult as this may be to understand, I admit I am pleased._

He cocked his head. "May I ask why, my Lord?"

_Much like Leah, Joseph possesses a great deal of resistance to Me. He would not succumb to the ways that My children have embraced. Until now. The murder of the Healer proves to me that even Joseph has surrendered himself to Me, despite how much he denies the truth. Leah's strength faltered, and so shall his. He will be mine. _

He nodded his understanding. "In a way, this was a test for Joseph. A test of his faith in You."

The wind blew, sounding much like a chuckle. _Precisely._

It was almost as if there was some unseen entity now standing beside the small boy. "The Unbeliever still committed a crime against You, my Lord."

_Yes, he has._

"Is he to be punished for this?"

_Not by the hands of My children. _

"Would you have me bring justice upon him?"

_No. I will instill a proper punishment upon him. He shall be made aware of how real I am, and never be given a chance to forget. I shall invade his mind, keep my hand grasping his shoulder at all times, make him suffer in his heart and his mind for all his wrongdoings. He shall be driven into madness for his sacrilegious ways. He will fall greatly; I will make sure of this. _

Eli listened to this with much pleasure. "What of Job and Sarah?"

For a while, the voice said nothing. Then, _They are My children, and they have been innocent of committing any sins. I forgive them for not be present when I made Myself known to all. No harm is to come to them. Make sure of it, apprentice._

He gave a short nod. "It is Your will, Lord."

_Do remember your importance here, My apprentice. I have sent you to permanently instill faith in Me, and there is still much work to be done. There will be a time when I call upon you to carry on what has already been created. You will have much to do in the coming days._

"Not to sound impatient, my Lord, but when will I be called to fulfill my duties for You?"

_Patience indeed, My son. There will be a time to expand My influence far beyond the walls of Gatlin, and it will arrive soon. When the time comes, I will need your ability to convince others of the truth. _

"And I serve only You, my Lord, my God." His promise went to greatest depths of his black soul. No matter what orders he was given, Eli would remain devoted to He Who Walks Behind the Rows.

Touching the corn leaves one more time, he smiled coldly, feeling the life force that had once been Leah Daniels pulse in his palm. She was still strong; she would give the corn much needed strength. Walking on, he was gradually swallowed by the crop he knew as his Lord's creation. He Who Walks Behind the Rows would be watching them in Gatlin. Always.


End file.
